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174 D Chapter Fifty-One d Continuing the trek Every completed mile brought us a little closer to our goal, the American or British lines, promised by the light in the far distance.Would we ever reach it? Managing about ten miles in twenty-four hours,with the horses and the Russian POWs setting the pace,we made slow but steady progress. In between we rested, sleeping for a few hours in some underbrush, in stables, barns, empty farmhouses, and deserted mansions. We sank down on bare wooden or concrete floors, piles of straw, and magnificent, oversized beds, still warm from those who had decided to leave in a hurry. Since we all had to eat, I stole potatoes and cabbage from cellars, canned meat from pantry shelves, enough wine to make everyone happy, and caught and cooked chickens after they had been decapitated by Fyodor and Pawlik with the proficiency of executioners. One of the wagons in our convoy was filled to the brim with bread and booze, the key having been entrusted to me. They could not have picked a better person, because I dished out both to whoever asked. Enough schnapps, we found, was very helpful in lulling us into a nice, warm feeling of false security. The only thought that made me sick was that my parents had no idea of my whereabouts .After five days and nights, something occurred in the little town of Neustadt on the Dosse River that almost brought our journey to an abrupt and possibly tragic end. With night setting in,we were just about to resume our weary journey,with the vet and me at the head of the convoy. The others were still some distance away when, suddenly, a motorcycle came to a screeching halt right under our noses, causing Arabella to perform a perfect yet unexpected levade.29 The man on the bike with a sidecar did not even bother to turn the engine off; what he had to say would not take long. I recognized the SS emblems on the license number as well as on his helmet, identifying him as one of the feared “Field Police” hunting for deserters; even at this stage of the game, I almost panicked. After determining that we were not in the possession of official marching orders, he told us in no uncertain terms to immediately turn back east to Berlin to help defend the city as was our duty. His machine gun hung casually across his back, an oversight he would have no time to regret, since both the vet and I were armed. Memories of young soldiers dangling from lampposts because they did not want to go on fighting for Adolf Hitler flashed through my mind. Not me, I decided, not me, not at this point or ever will I return to hell. Destruction unlimiteD 175 Precisely at that moment, with a low flying fighter plane roaring above us, for a split second my eyes met with those of the vet next to me. The infernal noise of the plane engine , plus the rattling of the motorbike drowned out the two gun shots. One of the bullets carried special greetings from my friend Ortgies, the other one carried best wishes from the vet’s handgun. Shortly after this incident, our column started moving, passing the SS man, now slumped over the sidecar of his vehicle that had rolled halfway into a ditch with the motor still running, another unfortunate war casualty, most likely hit from the cockpit of the plane! The vet and I had committed the perfect crime unnoticed, probably saving not only our own lives, but our entire unit. Aftertheseventhnight,whilepassingthroughadesertedvillage,anoldmanapproached us, whispering that, according to a special radio bulletin,Adolf Hitler was dead. The führer had fallen in the battle of Berlin, which he had helped defend like a hero, fighting to his last breath for his fatherland, for his people, “Not for me,” I wanted to shout! “Not for me!” But warned by my instinct,I decided to postpone long-overdue screams of ecstasy until this delightful report, the best one in twelve years, was confirmed. I had survived this far, so now I could surely wait just a little longer. ...

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