The Introduction

I mentioned a week or so ago that my historical novel, My Honor is my Loyalty: War in the East has been released. Being a novel about war, I realize it is not everyone’s “cup of tea”, but I thought some of the readers of this blog might find it of interest.

This is the introduction to the book, I hope some of you find it of interest.

I am an old man now, but I was once young. Young and strong, sure of myself, and I believed I knew all the answers. Like the youth of all ages, I was filled with vitality and idealism, and like youth throughout the ages, I followed older men who were strong. Those older men were filled with their own ideals, some of which were good and some of which were bad. I was not political, and like all youth of a similar age, I did not fully understand everything that was said, and I could not always put it in its proper context, but I loved my country and wanted to defend it. The strong man I followed was our Fuehrer.

It has been many years since the events I wrote about, and I think of the many comrades who are gone. One by one, they have fallen in the long years since the end of the war. Some died peacefully, some died terrible deaths caused by disease. Some learned something in those years, some learned nothing. I sat with them, listened to their arguments about history and the world and have, for the most part, kept my own counsel. I held my tongue and did not criticize or argue with others about morality, or politics, or just about any subject. To do so is foolish, for in the end, we are all only small cogs in a great machine that neither recognizes nor cares for us.I am a veteran of that war that is known by different names in different countries: World War II, The Great Patriotic War, The Great Crusade, and other names. But they all stand for the long, terrible six years when, if there is such a thing as the physical presence of evil, it was alive and well and walking our planet like a great bloody beast. It was a time when the world went mad, when men and women of too many nations thought what they perceived to be an easy way to gain all that they sought. They did not seek their betterment by hard work or sacrifice, but rather by stealing the goods and lives and wealth of their neighbors. They looked for and found someone who was smaller, weaker, and less brutal and believed that because of their strength, they had a right to their neighbor’s wealth.
This philosophy did not come upon the world suddenly but was born of defeat and frustration and anger and, most of all, weakness. Weakness in those who should have been strong, who should have stood for goodness and progress and human dignity. Those who should have been a bulwark for strength were weak, and that allowed others to become strong. Those new strong men seized upon the idealism of youth and turned that into destruction. The brightest, best educated generation in the history of the world committed terrible deeds of slaughter and have left their mark on the world. The youth of Germany and Italy, Russia and China and Japan marched off to cause the deaths of almost a hundred million and the destruction of the old world. All for naught.
Yet perhaps it was not for naught. Whoever says that war settles nothing has never been on a battlefield, in a camp or even in a war. War settles much; it settles who will live and who will die, who will be whole and who will be maimed, who will be wealthy and who will be poor. Stand on any battlefield and tell me that war settles nothing. It may notsettle some great questions in the Universe, but for millions and millions, it is the final arbitrator.
The great pity is that we have learned nothing, for it still goes on today as if the past had never happened. With the best of intentions, those who should know better and who have access to all knowledge choose to ignore the lessons of the past and strive not for unity but divisiveness and flexibility.
It is a strange paradox, and it is easy to see that there is a fine line between right and wrong, between personal freedom and personal irresponsibility, and between using strength for good and the abuse of that strength. It takes fine minds and common sense to make sound judgments, and somehow, we just do not have an abundance of those qualities in the world today.
Perhaps I ramble too much, but I do love to philosophize, if only to myself! So, let me get back to the beginning, or at least to a point where you may be able to make some sense of all of this. You see, when I was young, I was a warrior. I was strong and sure and deadly. I was very good at what I did, and I extracted a terrible price from my enemies. I had many enemies. When I was growing up in Germany after the seizure of power in 1933 by Hitler, we were told that there were enemies all around. We only had to look at the map, to look at the breadlines and millions of unemployed to know that we were surrounded by enemies. But Hitler had the answers, and we believed.
In 1933, I was nine years old, and like all young people, I was sure that I was immortal. The concept of death was totally alien to me as I had no experience with life or reality. With that childish belief of my immortality, suddenly came a leader who gave us a vision of the future, where we would create a new world based on strength and vitality and community, the Volksgemeinschaft. In our community, in our new Germany, everyone would work and be rewarded if each agreed to be part of the whole. We were all to sacrifice a little so that we could all gain a lot. The humiliating stain of 1918 would be erased, and in its place, the Germany of Goethe, Frederick the Great and Bismarck would be resurrected. The past glories of Germany, who had given the world music and art and great literature, would once again shine like a beacon for the world to follow and marvel at from their puny lands. All that we asked was that the world recognize the genius of the German people and allow us to achieve our natural place in the Sun. If it would not be given, we would take it.
For all our past glories to come back to us, we all had to believe. Like most youth, at the very time that I began to question the validity of religion, I was offered the chance to have faith in an earthly presence: our beloved Fuehrer. Oh, what a relief to have a clear and shining light in our lives! Our Fuehrer, a man of common origins, a man who had served in the trenches in the First War, was able to show us the way to greatness. He had all the answers: who our friends and enemies were, what our roles were to build a Greater Germany, and more. Who could doubt him, for everything that he foresaw came through, time and time again? He revitalized our economy, put us to work, brought back to us the Saar, and built up our armed forces. In a time of worldwide depression, Germany had become the shining light of progress and prosperity. Leaders from France, England, the United States, and other nations flocked to our happy land to witness the miracle firsthand. We knew that our Fuehrer was right, but to hear such words of praise from the likes of industrialists, Kings and Prime Ministers only strengthened our belief that we were on the right course.
At home, my father, who had been unemployed for so long, was sure that Germany was back on the right track. He was able to go out with his comrades from the war and relive the glories and see the shining future. My mother, being a good German housewife, was glad to see her husband working and her son applying himself with conviction to the local work of the Party and the Hitler Youth. Yes, there was purpose and belief again! We knew that some of the troublemakers had been arrested. But that was only for their own good as well as that of Germany. We knew things were not so bad, for when the arrested men came back, they were willing and able to resume a productive place in the community.
We heard the Jews were having a difficult time, but so what? We didn’t really know many, and the ones we did know were not like those shown in Der Sturmer or other papers. If our Jews had been like those, we would have wanted to get rid of them. Some of those Jews did not even speak German after living in Germany for hundreds of years! When our Jews were taken away, well, it was part of what had to be done to create a better life for everyone.
Six years later, when the war started, our Fuehrer had been proven right many, many times. For six years, we had been one community, with one will and one vision. We were happy to do our duty, eager to sacrifice for our beloved Fuehrer. No price was too great, no burden too heavy, for we were young and strong and immortal! We were happy to go on the great crusade against our traditional enemies, the French and English. We were anxious to march to the East, to destroy the cancer of Communism. And woe to any who stood in our way!
I did not think it at the time, but my youth had been sacrificed, and my blood, which was given so freely, was wasted. Wasted in a cause unworthy of my loyalty and effort. And the things that I did in the name of that cause can never be undone. The sorrow and pain, the lost opportunities can never be corrected.
But that was then, and this is now. Now, I sit in the basement of what was once a beautiful building in what was once a beautiful city. I sit and hear the shells crash nearby, listen to the single shots of snipers, listen to the groans of the wounded, and think back to that time. This city, Sarajevo, used to be a wonderfully cosmopolitan city. I came to live here several years ago, after I was released from my service in the French Foreign Legion, after I received my French citizenship, and changed my name. As you will see from my story, I was familiar with the area, and I loved the mountains and the fresh, crisp air. I could not go home to my native Bavaria, and I could not stay in France. In Germany, I might be questioned, and in France, well, in France, I would have been reminded of France’s former glories and how they had never reconciled the fact that it was all gone. I was tired of their arrogance based on those lost and tarnished glories. But by changing my name and moving somewhere else, I could start a new life.
I would have thought that the world had learned some of what I had learned in the forty years since the end of the war, but as with so many other things, I was wrong. Somehow, mankind does not learn from the past, or if we do, we only pick up the worst of the past. Somehow, no one ever stands and says, “No, we cannot do this, because if we do, this will happen. We know this because it has happened before.” Instead, we always seem to think that we will avoid the foolish mistakes of the past and be smarter, but we never are, so we blunder along as a species, making others pay the price for our collective stupidity. It is so sad to see.
Even now, Western Europeans fool themselves; they feel so superior as they have not had a war for many decades, and they have built beautiful societies that care for the old, the poor, and the dispossessed. But they only fool themselves, for they have had no great war and have built those societies because a stronger national power has stood over them and protected them. They have not become enlightened; they have only stopped killing each other for the first time in a thousand years because of that stronger power which, even combined, they could not challenge.
The proof of their impotence is what I am experiencing currently. This beautiful city in this beautiful land is being ripped apart by small fools who dream of a “greater” land when they should be happy to hold onto the peace and prosperity that had been forced upon them. They think that they are creating a better land, believing without any evidence that they are better than others. Mankind never learns.
What follows is part of my story. It is a story that I wrote when the events happened or shortly thereafter, when I could find scraps of paper on which to scribble. I think it captures how I felt then; it certainly tells a terrible story of death and destruction. I am not the same person any longer. I am not sure why. Perhaps it is because I have learned more from life and my interactions with people around the world. Perhaps it is because I am so much older and have lost the fire that consumed me in my youth. I know that I was a believer for a long time, and during that time, I did what was expected and demanded of me. Somewhere along the path of life, I changed. It was not a conscious change, and it was not a willful change, but it was change. I like to think that the change is for the better, that I am a better man, that I have done some good. Yet, sometimes, late at night, when I sit by the window and stare out at the dark street, I remember the actions of my youth, and I feel the dark beast within me stirring. That beast is my soul, and I tremble before it, for I know that not only am I capable of terrible actions but that I have committed them. I did things that most men could never do, and I did them with a clear conscious because I believed they were necessary. At those times, my soul was laid bare for the world to see and many who saw it drew back in terror. At those times, in the middle of the night, I wonder if my conversion to the kind old man that my neighbors know is true, or if it is merely the result of old age and the inability to be what I once was. Does a man’s soul ever change? I guess I shall wonder till my dying day.