"This Army Will Kill You" (The Bunker)
Fandom: ---The Bunker---
Characters: Baumann and Matthias Neumann
Story: "This Army Will Kill You"
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Theme music: "Silence/Treating the Wounded" by Hans Zimmer from "The Thin Red Line"
Author's Note: This delightfully melancholic story of pain, forgiveness, and hope was brought to you by the shock-n-awe storm we had roll through here a few nights ago. This story was also egged-on by select tracks from the special edition score of "The Thin Red Line" by Hans Zimmer.
Summary: Caught in a fierce storm while in the woods, Baumann tries to make amends with his past while fighting to save the life of young Neumann.
The horizon lit and a brilliant flash streaked through the clouds. From his position on the edge of the thicket, Baumann could see that they would be overwhelmed by this storm and would be forced to seek shelter elsewhere. But it wasn’t as though this spot had provided much cover. In fact, in regards to military strategy, trying to hide among the bushes outlining a small field was not only risky but potentially deadly.
Rain splattered against the German Corporal’s face, showering him with the coldness of the season. Steadily the water grew in volume and forced Baumann to retreat into the woods. All around him silence dominated the terrain, only briefly reprieved by the deep rumbling of thunder. The darkness pulled at Baumann, demanding that he succumb to the hopelessness of his situation. Ever since he had saved the kid named Matthias from a cruel death under the hands of Schenke, Baumann knew that life could never return to the way it was.
Before he had fought against Schenke the man had branded him a traitor. Because the Totenkopf-hopeful had not seen the column of advancing American soldiers Schenke had denounced Baumann’s sighting, claiming Baumann to be nothing more than a frightened soldier. After that sordid declaration, Baumann had resigned himself to silence. Perhaps it was true what was said about him; maybe he did enjoy being hated.
But to what benefit did his good deeds prove anyhow? Despite rescuing one of his comrades from being killed by the advancing American forces he was still a soldier. Would the Americans take pity on him? Would they pass him off as just another unfortunate soldier weighted under a cruel regime? Or would they see him as he was, a murderer?
No matter how much Baumann tried to drown the images in tears, he could never fully erase the memory of executing that soldier. Sure there had been other comrades with him, but it was his rifle that sent the terrible shock of silence between him and the deserter. One fatal round had terminated two souls. How could he ever expect to contend with that? No rationing of any man could console his butchered conscience. He had shot an unarmed man for no other reason than fulfilling his obligation to the Fatherland.
Baumann paused in his steps and looked behind him. The treetops lit with the sudden explosion of light but this time, the German did not move. Instead he let the thunder work its way through him, shattering every nerve until it was raw. If he was truly serving his country then why did he feel this nagging guilt? What comfort could their glorious leader offer a wounded soldier like him who had helped in the slaughter of their own? A firing squad of his own. That was the reward for being compassionate in the eyes of Himmler and surely der Fürher.
Another brilliant flash lit the woods and Baumann sank into the soggy soil. Taking off his helmet, Baumann let it fall beside him. “What are we doing here?” Baumann asked in broken gasps. He turned his head, straining to hear a response though he knew that there would be none.
“Why are we killing our own? Why must I do this-- this cannot be for honour or for glory! This… this is murder.” His head lowered in shame and his sorrow mixed with the falling rain. “What do they expect of me? I was doing as I was told! But there can be no redemption for what I have done and there is no good that can be done that will ever make me forget those lives I have taken.”
For a moment the forest went quiet. The rain lightened and the thunder dissipated across the broken land. But Baumann hardly noticed the change and continued to kneel in the mud, shivering uncontrollably. He could not pull his thoughts out of the darkness. “There is no soul living within me,” Baumann gravely thought. “I will not survive this, but at least the kid will.”
Thunder clapped from just over two miles away and rain began to cascade from the heavens. Baumann’s eyes opened as a cold feeling washed through him. No, Matthias wasn’t all right! The kid was still in that half-dug foxhole! Pushing himself to his feet, Baumann fixed his helmet and resumed his walk through the forest. He hardly remembered walking this far though. Slowing his pace, Baumann tried to listen for any sign of his young friend.
“Neumann!” he exclaimed. Desperately Baumann wanted to keep his voice low for fear of being overheard by either the Americans or the Germans. With the line pushing back and forth like a ridiculous game of tug-of-war, it was hard to know where he stood. But chances had to be taken if he was ever going to see that kid to safety. “Neumann!”
Only the throaty rumble of thunder answered him. Quickening his pace, Baumann trudged forward, his anxiety rising with the storm’s approach. Every call that went unanswered fell like a resounding shot inside of Baumann. That kid had changed him somehow. Matthias had made him protective and eager to see him looked after. And as Baumann yelled for his lost companion, his earlier confusion vanished into the cold night.
“Neumann? Wo bist du, mein Freund?” Baumann strained to hear his friend but still he heard nothing. Coldness began to swallow Baumann’s hopes but he quickly shrugged it away, knowing that it would do him no good to be miserable.
Silence suddenly gripped the land again as nature took a breath and it was in this quiet that Baumann heard a voice faintly crying, “Ich bin hier, Baumann! Bitte, hear me…”
“Matthias!” yelled Baumann. The voice was close but coming from behind him. Ignoring the shame that wanted to further destroy his conscience, Baumann darted back the way he came. It wasn’t long before Baumann could see Matthias struggling out of the dent in the earth. There was no reassurance in the kid’s cries but to Baumann, seeing him still alive renewed his own strength.
Matthias forced himself into a standing position but immediately he crumbled into the soaked earth. Despite Matthias’s efforts to hide his cries of pain, Baumann heard them and quickly dropped to his comrade’s side. Baumann placed a hand on Matthias’s shoulder and spoke gratefully, “Matthias! I thought I had lost you in these woods!”
The shivering Matthias pulled himself up and gripped Baumann’s arm. “You were close Baumann. I heard you and I tried to call for you but I fell sick. When I came to, I couldn’t see you or hear your voice. So I kept calling for you. And then you answered.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless you are with me,” replied Baumann as he helped Matthias back into the semi-foxhole. He watched as Matthias took to curling up against the hard wall and knew that the kid was in awful pain. But as it were, other things were on Matthias’s mind.
“Were you able to see anything?” he inquired as he pulled an arm against his chest while his other hand guarded his wound.
“To be honest Neumann, sometimes I couldn’t tell if it was lightning or a town getting bombed by the Allies.”
Matthias chuckled hoarsely. “You’re mad Baumann, no pilot would dare a storm like this. It was definitely lightning.”
“Are you sure?” Baumann couldn’t resist teasing the kid. It was a pleasant change from the stoic, no-nonsense expression that he had witnessed earlier. Humour was desperately needed at this point. Rolling with Matthias’s amusement, Baumann continued, “After all, those could be Yanks up there. And you know how they are… always the cowboy hero.”
Matthias smirked but his amusement was cut short when he suddenly gripped his side and winced horribly. Alert to his friend’s needs, Baumann placed a hand against Matthias’s shoulder and waited for the pain to subside. He remembered all too clearly how they had been trying desperately to get back to their unit when they got cut off by an American patrol. Though many shots were fired, only one had hit its intended target and Baumann was angered that it wasn’t him who had been struck. Of course, they shouldn’t have been trying to flee from the Americans to begin with. Baumann wanted his friend safe and all that he had done for Matthias was to get him shot.
Some friend he was.
“If anyone can get us out of here, it’s you,” Matthias suddenly whispered.
This brought Baumann out of his abyss and he stared inquisitively at the kid. The storm, though bearing upon them, seemed to hold no cause for worry on his part. How could Matthias believe in him so much? Hadn’t the mayhem in the bunker enlightened Matthias to what Baumann was? And if not that, then perhaps getting him shot and lost in the woods was another good indicator.
“I trust you Baumann.”
Hearing this heart-felt statement, Baumann couldn’t help but be moved by it. But the comfort was soon disrupted when lightning exposed their area and caused Baumann to jump. To his surprise, Matthias did not even stir. His gaze was distant. Baumann knew that the kid was searching for someplace warm for his thoughts to rest in. But he could not let Matthias put faith into him.
“Look, Neumann, I’m not a good leader. I never was and I doubt I ever will be.” He sighed and watched Matthias’s face for a sign of unhappiness. “I said that I would get you someplace safe and I mean to keep that promise. But don’t start seeing me as some answer to a prayer!”
“You saved my life when you didn’t have to,” Matthias replied. “Schenke was going to kill me but you intervened. You pushed me to safety and have been guiding me through this forest.” A silent tear worked its way into the mess of rain. “I know what they have said about you and whether that is right or wrong, I will not judge you for it. I only know you as you are now and the things that you have done for me, and for the others. It shows me who you are.”
Baumann was stunned speechless by Matthias’s words. The kid was barely seventeen years of age and was sounding like a man who had seen countless roads etched with blood that gave him the wisdom he spoke. Around him the storm was but a whisper, a small breath, reminding him of the danger nearly upon them.
In a progressively weakening voice, Matthias continued, “It is also the things you didn’t do, like outright killing Schenke when you had the chance. That shows compassion. You also never repaid hate with hate. And through your courage and strength to see things through, no matter the personal risk you take, that Iron Cross, mein Freund, it is well-earned.”
“Neumann, I--” Baumann paused and let his gaze rest on the youth sitting next to him. Matthias believed in him so much when Baumann didn’t even believe in himself anymore. Earlier when Matthias had been shot, the kid had clung to his arm, fighting the urge to cry out in pain. Such insistence on the will to live had kept Baumann going and now, Baumann feared completely annihilating Matthias’s hopes. “I’ve done such unspeakable things that you don’t know about. If you knew what I have done, you wouldn’t want to know me.”
Matthias’s face fell but his voice remained strong as he replied, “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“But it does to me!” Baumann snapped. “You’ve already seen things that I wish no one would ever have to see and while you think of me as some saviour you don’t even know that I have killed--”
“Baumann, please!” The cries of the youth silenced Baumann’s tongue. Matthias’s shaking had increased and now he was in danger of falling over. Even in the rain, Baumann could tell that Matthias was choking on tears. Matthias continued, “Baumann, I am probably dying. I don’t want to die, but that’s just how it is. My strength is leaving me and all these last few days has given me is everything to be afraid of. But when I see you, I see hope. I want to live Baumann, and I know that you can help me; we can help each other. Please, don’t turn me away, not when I need you.”
Silence reigned between them. Baumann let the thunder fill in for where he could not speak. What Matthias had said both chilled him, and warmed his spirit. Perhaps he was supposed to do this one last thing before he died. Maybe that feeling of protectiveness wasn’t caused solely by the need to keep Schenke from murdering again. This kid seemed the answer to his own prayer.
“Matthias,” Baumann whispered. “My name is Danny.”
The youth opened his eyes and smiled through his exhaustion. Matthias was then pulled against his superior and soon his helmet was placed on the ground. Shivering still, Matthias tried to relax by letting his head rest against Baumann’s shoulder. Baumann protectively wrapped an arm around his friend while letting his other hand rest on Matthias’s forehead. It was just as Baumann had feared, the kid was beginning to burn up. Shutting his eyes, Baumann prayed that his body heat could keep Matthias warm enough to survive but even he knew that it would take a miracle to save the kid’s life.
“Bruder,” Matthias quietly spoke, his body slouching as he faded. “Mein Bruder…”
“I’m not going to let you die,” Baumann whispered fiercely to him. “Du bist mein Bruder, für immer.”
The moment that Matthias became fully limp in his arms Baumann confirmed what he had been trying to figure out. Matthias was single-handedly battling the demons within Baumann by simply reminding him of the hope of a brighter future. There was forgiveness in the world, and kindness. Matthias had spotted it in him and Baumann was nearly ashamed to admit that he wanted to be this way. As Baumann cradled his sick friend, he could scarcely believe that Matthias had gone from just a nameless soldier to being his brother within only a few days.
But if he didn’t act soon, Baumann knew that the storm would finish the remainder of Matthias’s strength and leave him dead by daybreak.~
~
Characters: Baumann and Matthias Neumann
Story: "This Army Will Kill You"
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Theme music: "Silence/Treating the Wounded" by Hans Zimmer from "The Thin Red Line"
Author's Note: This delightfully melancholic story of pain, forgiveness, and hope was brought to you by the shock-n-awe storm we had roll through here a few nights ago. This story was also egged-on by select tracks from the special edition score of "The Thin Red Line" by Hans Zimmer.
Summary: Caught in a fierce storm while in the woods, Baumann tries to make amends with his past while fighting to save the life of young Neumann.
The horizon lit and a brilliant flash streaked through the clouds. From his position on the edge of the thicket, Baumann could see that they would be overwhelmed by this storm and would be forced to seek shelter elsewhere. But it wasn’t as though this spot had provided much cover. In fact, in regards to military strategy, trying to hide among the bushes outlining a small field was not only risky but potentially deadly.
Rain splattered against the German Corporal’s face, showering him with the coldness of the season. Steadily the water grew in volume and forced Baumann to retreat into the woods. All around him silence dominated the terrain, only briefly reprieved by the deep rumbling of thunder. The darkness pulled at Baumann, demanding that he succumb to the hopelessness of his situation. Ever since he had saved the kid named Matthias from a cruel death under the hands of Schenke, Baumann knew that life could never return to the way it was.
Before he had fought against Schenke the man had branded him a traitor. Because the Totenkopf-hopeful had not seen the column of advancing American soldiers Schenke had denounced Baumann’s sighting, claiming Baumann to be nothing more than a frightened soldier. After that sordid declaration, Baumann had resigned himself to silence. Perhaps it was true what was said about him; maybe he did enjoy being hated.
But to what benefit did his good deeds prove anyhow? Despite rescuing one of his comrades from being killed by the advancing American forces he was still a soldier. Would the Americans take pity on him? Would they pass him off as just another unfortunate soldier weighted under a cruel regime? Or would they see him as he was, a murderer?
No matter how much Baumann tried to drown the images in tears, he could never fully erase the memory of executing that soldier. Sure there had been other comrades with him, but it was his rifle that sent the terrible shock of silence between him and the deserter. One fatal round had terminated two souls. How could he ever expect to contend with that? No rationing of any man could console his butchered conscience. He had shot an unarmed man for no other reason than fulfilling his obligation to the Fatherland.
Baumann paused in his steps and looked behind him. The treetops lit with the sudden explosion of light but this time, the German did not move. Instead he let the thunder work its way through him, shattering every nerve until it was raw. If he was truly serving his country then why did he feel this nagging guilt? What comfort could their glorious leader offer a wounded soldier like him who had helped in the slaughter of their own? A firing squad of his own. That was the reward for being compassionate in the eyes of Himmler and surely der Fürher.
Another brilliant flash lit the woods and Baumann sank into the soggy soil. Taking off his helmet, Baumann let it fall beside him. “What are we doing here?” Baumann asked in broken gasps. He turned his head, straining to hear a response though he knew that there would be none.
“Why are we killing our own? Why must I do this-- this cannot be for honour or for glory! This… this is murder.” His head lowered in shame and his sorrow mixed with the falling rain. “What do they expect of me? I was doing as I was told! But there can be no redemption for what I have done and there is no good that can be done that will ever make me forget those lives I have taken.”
For a moment the forest went quiet. The rain lightened and the thunder dissipated across the broken land. But Baumann hardly noticed the change and continued to kneel in the mud, shivering uncontrollably. He could not pull his thoughts out of the darkness. “There is no soul living within me,” Baumann gravely thought. “I will not survive this, but at least the kid will.”
Thunder clapped from just over two miles away and rain began to cascade from the heavens. Baumann’s eyes opened as a cold feeling washed through him. No, Matthias wasn’t all right! The kid was still in that half-dug foxhole! Pushing himself to his feet, Baumann fixed his helmet and resumed his walk through the forest. He hardly remembered walking this far though. Slowing his pace, Baumann tried to listen for any sign of his young friend.
“Neumann!” he exclaimed. Desperately Baumann wanted to keep his voice low for fear of being overheard by either the Americans or the Germans. With the line pushing back and forth like a ridiculous game of tug-of-war, it was hard to know where he stood. But chances had to be taken if he was ever going to see that kid to safety. “Neumann!”
Only the throaty rumble of thunder answered him. Quickening his pace, Baumann trudged forward, his anxiety rising with the storm’s approach. Every call that went unanswered fell like a resounding shot inside of Baumann. That kid had changed him somehow. Matthias had made him protective and eager to see him looked after. And as Baumann yelled for his lost companion, his earlier confusion vanished into the cold night.
“Neumann? Wo bist du, mein Freund?” Baumann strained to hear his friend but still he heard nothing. Coldness began to swallow Baumann’s hopes but he quickly shrugged it away, knowing that it would do him no good to be miserable.
Silence suddenly gripped the land again as nature took a breath and it was in this quiet that Baumann heard a voice faintly crying, “Ich bin hier, Baumann! Bitte, hear me…”
“Matthias!” yelled Baumann. The voice was close but coming from behind him. Ignoring the shame that wanted to further destroy his conscience, Baumann darted back the way he came. It wasn’t long before Baumann could see Matthias struggling out of the dent in the earth. There was no reassurance in the kid’s cries but to Baumann, seeing him still alive renewed his own strength.
Matthias forced himself into a standing position but immediately he crumbled into the soaked earth. Despite Matthias’s efforts to hide his cries of pain, Baumann heard them and quickly dropped to his comrade’s side. Baumann placed a hand on Matthias’s shoulder and spoke gratefully, “Matthias! I thought I had lost you in these woods!”
The shivering Matthias pulled himself up and gripped Baumann’s arm. “You were close Baumann. I heard you and I tried to call for you but I fell sick. When I came to, I couldn’t see you or hear your voice. So I kept calling for you. And then you answered.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless you are with me,” replied Baumann as he helped Matthias back into the semi-foxhole. He watched as Matthias took to curling up against the hard wall and knew that the kid was in awful pain. But as it were, other things were on Matthias’s mind.
“Were you able to see anything?” he inquired as he pulled an arm against his chest while his other hand guarded his wound.
“To be honest Neumann, sometimes I couldn’t tell if it was lightning or a town getting bombed by the Allies.”
Matthias chuckled hoarsely. “You’re mad Baumann, no pilot would dare a storm like this. It was definitely lightning.”
“Are you sure?” Baumann couldn’t resist teasing the kid. It was a pleasant change from the stoic, no-nonsense expression that he had witnessed earlier. Humour was desperately needed at this point. Rolling with Matthias’s amusement, Baumann continued, “After all, those could be Yanks up there. And you know how they are… always the cowboy hero.”
Matthias smirked but his amusement was cut short when he suddenly gripped his side and winced horribly. Alert to his friend’s needs, Baumann placed a hand against Matthias’s shoulder and waited for the pain to subside. He remembered all too clearly how they had been trying desperately to get back to their unit when they got cut off by an American patrol. Though many shots were fired, only one had hit its intended target and Baumann was angered that it wasn’t him who had been struck. Of course, they shouldn’t have been trying to flee from the Americans to begin with. Baumann wanted his friend safe and all that he had done for Matthias was to get him shot.
Some friend he was.
“If anyone can get us out of here, it’s you,” Matthias suddenly whispered.
This brought Baumann out of his abyss and he stared inquisitively at the kid. The storm, though bearing upon them, seemed to hold no cause for worry on his part. How could Matthias believe in him so much? Hadn’t the mayhem in the bunker enlightened Matthias to what Baumann was? And if not that, then perhaps getting him shot and lost in the woods was another good indicator.
“I trust you Baumann.”
Hearing this heart-felt statement, Baumann couldn’t help but be moved by it. But the comfort was soon disrupted when lightning exposed their area and caused Baumann to jump. To his surprise, Matthias did not even stir. His gaze was distant. Baumann knew that the kid was searching for someplace warm for his thoughts to rest in. But he could not let Matthias put faith into him.
“Look, Neumann, I’m not a good leader. I never was and I doubt I ever will be.” He sighed and watched Matthias’s face for a sign of unhappiness. “I said that I would get you someplace safe and I mean to keep that promise. But don’t start seeing me as some answer to a prayer!”
“You saved my life when you didn’t have to,” Matthias replied. “Schenke was going to kill me but you intervened. You pushed me to safety and have been guiding me through this forest.” A silent tear worked its way into the mess of rain. “I know what they have said about you and whether that is right or wrong, I will not judge you for it. I only know you as you are now and the things that you have done for me, and for the others. It shows me who you are.”
Baumann was stunned speechless by Matthias’s words. The kid was barely seventeen years of age and was sounding like a man who had seen countless roads etched with blood that gave him the wisdom he spoke. Around him the storm was but a whisper, a small breath, reminding him of the danger nearly upon them.
In a progressively weakening voice, Matthias continued, “It is also the things you didn’t do, like outright killing Schenke when you had the chance. That shows compassion. You also never repaid hate with hate. And through your courage and strength to see things through, no matter the personal risk you take, that Iron Cross, mein Freund, it is well-earned.”
“Neumann, I--” Baumann paused and let his gaze rest on the youth sitting next to him. Matthias believed in him so much when Baumann didn’t even believe in himself anymore. Earlier when Matthias had been shot, the kid had clung to his arm, fighting the urge to cry out in pain. Such insistence on the will to live had kept Baumann going and now, Baumann feared completely annihilating Matthias’s hopes. “I’ve done such unspeakable things that you don’t know about. If you knew what I have done, you wouldn’t want to know me.”
Matthias’s face fell but his voice remained strong as he replied, “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“But it does to me!” Baumann snapped. “You’ve already seen things that I wish no one would ever have to see and while you think of me as some saviour you don’t even know that I have killed--”
“Baumann, please!” The cries of the youth silenced Baumann’s tongue. Matthias’s shaking had increased and now he was in danger of falling over. Even in the rain, Baumann could tell that Matthias was choking on tears. Matthias continued, “Baumann, I am probably dying. I don’t want to die, but that’s just how it is. My strength is leaving me and all these last few days has given me is everything to be afraid of. But when I see you, I see hope. I want to live Baumann, and I know that you can help me; we can help each other. Please, don’t turn me away, not when I need you.”
Silence reigned between them. Baumann let the thunder fill in for where he could not speak. What Matthias had said both chilled him, and warmed his spirit. Perhaps he was supposed to do this one last thing before he died. Maybe that feeling of protectiveness wasn’t caused solely by the need to keep Schenke from murdering again. This kid seemed the answer to his own prayer.
“Matthias,” Baumann whispered. “My name is Danny.”
The youth opened his eyes and smiled through his exhaustion. Matthias was then pulled against his superior and soon his helmet was placed on the ground. Shivering still, Matthias tried to relax by letting his head rest against Baumann’s shoulder. Baumann protectively wrapped an arm around his friend while letting his other hand rest on Matthias’s forehead. It was just as Baumann had feared, the kid was beginning to burn up. Shutting his eyes, Baumann prayed that his body heat could keep Matthias warm enough to survive but even he knew that it would take a miracle to save the kid’s life.
“Bruder,” Matthias quietly spoke, his body slouching as he faded. “Mein Bruder…”
“I’m not going to let you die,” Baumann whispered fiercely to him. “Du bist mein Bruder, für immer.”
The moment that Matthias became fully limp in his arms Baumann confirmed what he had been trying to figure out. Matthias was single-handedly battling the demons within Baumann by simply reminding him of the hope of a brighter future. There was forgiveness in the world, and kindness. Matthias had spotted it in him and Baumann was nearly ashamed to admit that he wanted to be this way. As Baumann cradled his sick friend, he could scarcely believe that Matthias had gone from just a nameless soldier to being his brother within only a few days.
But if he didn’t act soon, Baumann knew that the storm would finish the remainder of Matthias’s strength and leave him dead by daybreak.~
~