Even though the darkness hid it, I could still picture his face.  I could picture the glare, the constant glare that made any expression of joy impossible.  I could picture the muscles clenched behind dense stubble, sticking out from his sharp jawline and cheekbones.  And as I pictured his face through the dark, I wondered.  Did he have anybody waiting back home for him, after all who could love this monster?  Had he always been this cold? 

The clicks of our boots against the cobbled street break the morning’s silence.  All I can see is his silhouette against the white walls of the houses drifting by.  His muscled frame dwarfs mine.  My guess is he has around eleven years on me, placing him around thirty. 

It had been his idea, Lieutenant Sparks.  He wanted to question them early in the morning, while they were still groggy.  He had said something about how they can’t think as clearly and can’t be clever when they’ve just been woken.  Get them when they are flustered, he had said.  Even if I did disagree, no way in hell was I going to argue with him.  So, as all the other search teams were still bootless and snoring, Sparks and I approached our second house. 

No.  There is probably one other person up at this hour.  Johnny, he probably hasn’t gotten to closing his eyes yet either.  Nope, he is most likely still up with some girl he had introduced himself to, bearing a stupid grin and a bar of chocolate.  They all looked the same here in Germany, thick blonde braids, white powdery cheeks, crimson lips, blue eyes.  From when we first landed in Germany, Johnny has easily seen more tits than he has killed krauts.  Shit, I don’t even want to think about what Sparks would do, if he knew Johnny was sleeping around with a German girl.

Sparks stops before a two-story house, the next house on our list.  I have to stop and convince myself it’s different from the previous house we had just searched.  This house has the same white walls, with the same charcoal beams forming the same rectangles, triangles, and squares, with the same thick wooded door held up by the same cast-iron hinges.

Fingering through a freshly opened pack, Sparks pulls out a cigarette and lights it.  Slightly tilting his head back, smoke wafts from his cracked mouth melting into the black sky.  After freeing his hands, he slides his rifle from his shoulder.  The click of his safety causes me to stuff my hands even further into my pockets and look even more intently at the rounded stones beneath my feet. 

Fuck.  Any Kraut with a gun has run south, and no one’s gonna rush his ass with a rolling-pin, not for waking them up, even this early in the morning.  To be honest, this guy scares me more than a Kraut.  I can just shoot at a Kraut.  But this guy, it’s just complicated, in some demented sort of way.

###

The first of the rumors I had heard of Sparks and Easy Company had come from Johnny.  He had allegedly heard the story from someone else in our company who had been stationed with Easy as they stumbled on Dachau.  I had thought it was only another one of Johnny’s stories.

 “So this big blond German guy came out, like a prize horse, with his chest out and all his medals on, and he’s holding up a white flag like a banner.  Next thing, one of the guys from Easy grabs the kraut by the collar knocks him down to the mud with a blow from his rifle and then spits in the guys face.  Then…he shoots the guy right in the head.  He shot the fucking Kraut in the head!  Can you believe that?”

Johnny had grinned as he told me this.  Me, I just looked off to the side. The trees edging the forest along our flank whizzed by. 

“So after shooting the Kraut, the guy says ‘there goes any need for formalities.’  And then, he just lights a cig and walks away.  Can you believe that?”

“Johnny, where the hell do you keep finding this bullshit?” 

“No. No, I’m telling you, it’s all true.  Next thing, the Lieutenant from Easy…I think his name is Sparks or something…no I’m sure its Sparks, well he gets some of his guys to gather about sixty of the S.S. guards along a wall and places two MGs to guard them.  Soon as the Colonel leaves, Sparks has his guys mow the bastards down. When the Colonel comes running back, Sparks just says the Germans tried to rush them.  Except all the shot bodies are still lined against the wall.  No way they could have rushed those guns.  That guy needs a damn soul, I’m telling you, or a mother.  Man that’s it.  He probably never had a mom.  No man with a mom would ever pull some shit like that.”

I just grinned at Johnny and shook my head.  He could go on forever with these stories.

“You want to know why they did it?  Well, when the boys in Easy moved onto the camp, they found train cars full of corpses that had starved, and even more inside the camp.  Drove the guys crazy I guess.  So they just started shooting up the Kraut guards.  The medic sent to check up on the shot Krauts just dropped razor blades on their moaning corpses and told them to finish themselves off.  I guess a few of the bastards slit each other’s wrists because the pain was too much.” 

“Bull shit.”

“I swear to God, its true.  Just you wait.  Then you’ll see.”

So there Johnny and I sat, bouncing in the back of a rattling jeep, leaving behind our buddies in Baker who at that moment were shooting after Krauts retreating into Munich. Instead, we headed in the opposite direction for Dachau, where Easy was in the process of liberating prisoners from a concentration camp, and searching for hiding soldiers.  Apparently our expertise in German was needed.

Funny enough, Johnny and I barely know German.  We just happen to know a few phrases we picked up from a childhood in a German town in Wisconsin.  Both Johnny and I are second generation Germans, which, according to the United States Infantry Division, qualifies us as expert translators. 

###

Right now I wish I never paid attention to those angry gurgles called German exchanged between my parents.  Had I just left the angry gurgles as angry gurgles, I wouldn’t have to be here with Lieutenant Lunatic so damn early in the morning.

Using the butt of his gun, Sparks pounds on the thick oak door in repetitions of four.  The cracks from the contact echo down the lane, sounding like gunshots.  They must be terrified, whoever is on the other side of this door.  After ten or so raps, I hear life coming from inside.  Hushed voices debate.  Nervous patters creak across floorboards. 

“United States Infantry, open up, we are here to search your house.”  

The raps against the door become more malicious as time passes.  I just stand to the side, hands in my pockets, eyes glued to the cracked leather on the toe of my boot.  I find a seam with a loose end in my pocket and begin to pull at it.

 “Private get your ass over here and get these Krauts to open up.”

I jolt at Sparks’ order.  Thankfully the darkness hides the red rushing to my face.  I inch forward and loudly fumble with German, speaking to nothing in particular.  My eyes still rest on the tips of my shoes.

“Wir sind mit die U.S.A., opfen ihre Hause, jetzt.”

Footsteps near the door.  I could see the dark silhouette of Sparks’ finger move from the wood stock of his rifle over to the metallic ring of his trigger guard.

If this guy shoots anybody…no, no one is going to get shot.  Just, calm down.  Calm down.

###

Easy Company had gone crazy.  Those were the rumors, but I didn’t believe them.  They were too much, too unreal to be true.  At least, that was what I thought.  I had seen some crazy shit, no question.  What people were saying though, it just didn’t make sense.  But, as we pulled into Dachau, I saw stuff that made the limbless corpses frozen in foxholes seem trivial.

Like some demented gate to hell, piles of bodies greeted us as the jeep pulled into the complex.  Starved skeletons with leathered skin were being placed on canvass stretchers, and tossed into green trucks. There were train cars filled with them.  There were trucks full of them.  There were pits full of them.  There were piles everywhere, bodies everywhere, so many lifeless corpses.  I had to cover my face as the rot sank into my stomach but I still vomited off the side of the jeep onto the moving ground.  It was a nightmare.  A God damned nightmare.

How…how could this happen?  That was all I could think.  God I was angry, the blood in my veins burned, my chest burned, I was just so fucking angry.  At S.S..  At Krauts.  At Germans.  I just hated them all.  I just clenched my fists and my jaws, and squeezed so that the nails dug into my palms, leaving a line of purpled gashes.

The jeep stopped as it approached the concentration camp’s main gate.  Johnny and I got out of the jeep and followed the driver. 

And there it was. 

Laying face down in a shallow ditch was an abandoned body.  It was large and it had on a decorated uniform splattered with mud, a white flag was clutched in its hands, its blonde hair was matted with blood, and the back of its skull had been blown away by a gun that had likely been shot only feet away. 

It felt good.  Seeing the fucker lying in the mud. 

But as we approached a coal yard, I could see a neat line of mutilated uniformed bodies against a wall.  Some still had their arms stiffly raised for the air, some had their arms shielding their eyes, some had white kerchiefs clenched in their hands, and some bodies, the ones that had not been shredded apart by machine gun bullets but were still shot, had deep red lines cut across the wrists. 

            These bodies were pitiful, sad, and scared.  This time, it didn’t feel good to look at their torn bodies.  The anger had just boiled back.  But this time, it wasn’t just Germans. 

Fuck, I thought.  This place is crazy.  Everybody here is out of their fucking mind.  The Germans.  Easy.  Everyone.

“Enjoying the scenery private?”  I had nearly jumped out of my boots as I nearly stepped into the man who had said this.  I gathered myself and saluted as I caught a glimpse of the lieutenant badge on the man’s arm, Jonathan did the same.  The lieutenant just stared at the arm erect along my forehead.  “You two must be the boys from Baker.”

###

            A bolt turns and the door swings open only to reveal a balding pudgy cherry-red face screaming in German.  The words flow so fast that I can’t make out a single one.  Lieutenant Sparks just glares with his usual unamused glare. 

“Private, can you get this guy to shut up?”  The words roll out of Sparks’ mouth as if there is nothing particularly unique occurring.  As if a red-faced German was not spitting obscenities into our faces.

            “Ruhe, ruhe bitte, spricht nict, bitte.”  I doubt the German even heard my pleas.  I just look at Sparks and shake my head no.

            At that, Sparks brings the muzzle of his rifle to the German’s forehead.  The man stops dead mid-word.  His eyes cross as they meet the metal cylinder tormenting his forehead, and his jaw dangles dumbly.  My heart starts pounding and my hands sweat inside of my pockets.  He isn’t going to shoot this guy.  Of course not, he just wants the bastard to shut up, that’s all. 

            “Now tell this Kraut we are searching his house for German combatants.”

            I rush to comply, only making me stumble on the words even more.

            “Wir suchen für Soldaten…in dein Hause…jetzt”

            With eyes still on the barrel, the man responds.

            “Wir haben keinen Soldaten in unserem Haus.”

            “He says they don’t have any soldiers in their house.”

            “Since when did you start trusting Krauts private?”

            Silver carafes, goblets, plates, and silverware glow on top of glossed ebony cabinetry.  Crystal wares sparkle behind glass cupboard doors.  Gold trimmed carpets fill entire rooms with the most detailed designs I have ever seen.  A lean elderly woman, as tall as myself, with sheer white curls joins us in the living room.  Her lips purse as she stares daggers after Sparks.

            “They have a son. He’s S.S.”

            So much for getting in an out of here.

            Sparks passes a picture to me framed by sculpted gold leaves.  A young man standing rigidly in an immaculate S.S. uniform with an arm saluting Hitler stares back.   No doubt he is the son.  I pass the picture back, and Sparks brings the picture back to his face.  He then in one swift motion smashes the frame against the edge of a cabinet sending glass shatters across the room and drops the frame to the ground, taking the effort to step on it as he moves along.

            “If we haven’t gotten him yet, he probably is here hiding.”

            Sparks paces through the first floor rooms, prodding with his rifle at cabinets, pantries, and anything that could possibly hide a body.  The German couple glares after him, as they follow, whispering to one another as every cabinet door in the kitchen is opened. 

            After peering into the pantry, Sparks leads us back into the living room.  He then plucks the cigarette from between his lips, drops it, and crushes it with his boot on the floor.  Sparks signals the couple to follow him to the second floor.  Slight creaks come from the couple’s slippered feet as they ascended the stairs.  The floor groans under the weight of our following boots.

            A large four-post bed with deep blue silk sheets sits in the middle of the couple’s room and two large wardrobes stand against the side.  Walking up to the first wardrobe Sparks opens it.  Nothing.  Approaching the second, Sparks carefully leans his rifle against the wall, and then swiftly grabbing the back edge of the wooden structure, he lurches it forward so that it smashes to the ground.  The wardrobe splinters, but only coats and dresses spill out.  The woman begins to yelp but then quickly catches herself with a hand over her mouth.  The man’s face flushes even more but any protest dissolves under a gentle yet quivering grip of his forearm coming from his wife’s other hand.

            “Lieutenant…is this necessary?” I questioned as delicately as possible.

            He picked up his gun and stepped towards me.  And he stared.  With his nose only inches away, his breath moistened my chin.  He may as well have squished my stomach with his own hand.  I felt so helpless as Spark’s frame towered over me, and as his stare bored at my nerves.

            Without one word, Sparks turns, leaving me shaking by myself, and heads towards the back of the room to a window about a man’s length wide.  From it, I see U.S. soldiers meandering along razor wire fencing under the orange rising sun.  The entire camp is visible, and a bit off into the forest I can even make out the crematory’s chimney poking from the forest’s darkness.  Sparks just stands there for about five minutes staring.  God knows at what.  He then pulls out another cigarette and lights it. 

“How do you ask where the attic entrance is?”

Sparks still stares through the window.

            “I don’t know.”

            “You’re worthless you shit.”

            Silence. 

            “Well go find it private.”

            I don’t want to leave Sparks alone with the couple, but I go anyways, I doubt I could handle another confrontation.  I frantically look for the attic entrance, which doesn’t take long to find.  It’s just a door in the study’s ceiling. 

            “It’s in the study down the hall.”

            “Stay here, don’t let them move.”

            The two sets of eyes trail after Sparks. The wife’s face pales and sweat pearls line across the husband’s forehead as Spark’s footsteps enter the study.  Christ, he is here.

I just wish I could be back with Baker Company, shooting after Krauts carrying guns.  Krauts, real Krauts, the type that shoot back, those would be nice.  There is no question to ask when a Kraut has a gun.  There is no thinking to be done, no issue of morals.  Just shoot at the bastard.  But now I have to deal with this shit.  Looking for hiding Krauts, dealing with their parents, and worst of all, having to search for them with Lieutenant Lunatic here…well things just aren’t so clear now.  Christ.

            Yup, he found him.  Repeated yelps of “Nicht shiessen” barrel down from the attic.  I can just see the poor German kid up there.  The same brave and noble face in the smashed gold leaf picture frame that is now, with arms flailing, dumbly scrunched up trying to avoid the nozzle pointed in its direction.  Two pairs of feet walk down the hallway, one booted, one shoeless.

            A thin whiskered kid likely only a few years older than me enters the room with eyes like saucers.  It’s the kid, but he is no longer in uniform.  Lieutenant Sparks enters next, rifle pressed against the boy’s back.

            “This one probably shat his pants when he saw me.  It’s ironic isn’t it?  This kid here was hunting Jews, those Jews piled right outside, just days ago.  And now look, he’s fucking hiding like a rat.”  

            Wet lines streak the mother’s face.  Sparks nudges the boy further forward with his rifle, up towards the window.

            “See private, this kid here helped make those piles of bodies.  He isn’t a man fighting a war.  He is a feral fucking beast.”

            Sparks pushes the boy even further towards the window so that the kid’s nose now streaked the glass.

            “Lieutenant, we found him lets go”

            “There is no reason to keep this piece of shit alive.”

            “Come on, let’s go” My voice nearly breaking “Please” I pleaded.

            I watch Spark’s finger hook around his trigger.  I have to stop this.  He is going to shoot the kid.  Scenes flash through my head, of me grabbing Spark’s muzzle and pulling it away, of me rushing and tackling Sparks, of me talking him down, of me sliding my gun from my shoulder and aiming it at him, ordering him to lower his weapon.

            And with that, two bangs shoot through the air, blood splatters against the shattering glass, and the boy’s body drops to the ground with a thud.  His blood seeps seamlessly into the burgundy carpet.  His wide eyes stare off to his parents.  The mother shrieks, thick saliva drools from her gaping mouth.  The father rushes Sparks, but is stopped as the rifle butt smashes against his exposed skull.  Blood gushes from the balding head. 

            It just fucking happened.  Shit.  Sparks just shot the kid.  I…I saw it happen.  But it just can’t be real.  What the hell could I do?  This just happened.  Shit.

Sparks raises his rifle.  Following the rifle’s muzzle leads my eyes to the father’s rounded body sprawled on the ground. 

No. No. No.  Not him.  You already killed the kid, why him?

“Stop it.”  Two streams of wet trails warm my cheek.  “Stop it.” 

The lump squeezing my throat grabs my words so that they never leave my mouth.

“Stop it you maniac.”  The words just echo in my head.  “They didn’t do anything!”  God damn it why can’t I say anything?

“They knew kid, they knew.  They could see the fucking camp from their own Goddamn bedroom window.  They could see the bodies burning, they could see the executions, they could see the torture, they could see the mass graves, they could see it all.”  Sparks was now screaming at me.

“Stop it, don’t do it, they didn’t do anything…”  The sobs finally released from my throat.

Another shot rung out, and the man’s body slumped against the floor.

“Exactly kid, they didn’t do anything.  They saw that shit every day, and they did nothing.”

The wife gripping her knees to her heaving chest screamed her soul out.

“They did nothing, and that makes them monsters.  They don’t deserve to live.  They knew.  They knew exactly what was going on.  They knew.”

I wanted to just tackle him, smash his face in, I wanted so bad to grab the splintered wood at my feet and bring it crashing to his skull, to take the butt of my rifle and swing it across his face, to…

One more shot.  The silence screamed in my ears.