Eleven Eleven by Paul Dowswell Read Free Book Online Page A

Barely an instant later, it seemed, there was shouting and whistle-blowing, as the Feldwebel roused his men. The sky was much lighter. It was almost dawn. They must have been asleep longer than they realised.
    The Feldwebel called for silence. ‘This morning we are expecting an American attack in the area. They are thousands of miles from home. They are wondering why they are here. They are soft. They have not been hardened by war. They will be easily discouraged. You are fighting for your Fatherland. I am sure you will defend your positions bravely.’
    Then he turned to the two boys. Axel flinched, expecting to be hit for something he didn’t know he’d done. ‘You two, you have keen eyesight, don’t you? Up the tower. Break the door down if you have to. Shout down if you see anything coming towards us.’
    As they hurried to the church, Axel read the words on a wooden noticeboard by the main door. Paint was peeling off rotten wood, but he could still see Church of St Nicholas, Aulnois in Gothic script. So Aulnois was the name of this village. If he was to die, he at least knew where he was.
    The church interior was almost as dank as the outside. There were holes in the roof and a few restless pigeons fluttered around the nave. The wooden pews had long gone. There was only a stone altar beneath a large stained-glass window, which was miraculously still intact. They tried a couple of doors before they discovered the one that led to the top of the tower.
    Axel’s legs ached from his night’s marching as he climbed. Flat farmland stretched out before them, with a dense wood a kilometre to the north. The field in front of them was untouched by the war, aside from one large shell hole just to the right of their position. Off to the west were small villages and woods almost certainly occupied by the Tommies or the Yanks. As the day grew lighter, a thin mist began to rise. The boys peered through. ‘Perfect cover, isn’t it,’ said Erich, then, suddenly anxious, he asked, ‘Or is it gas?’ They had all seen the gas casualties back home. Men with horrible blister scars on their faces or arms, and wheezing terribly, every breath bubbling in corrupted lungs.
    Axel felt a kind of dizzy fear as he stared across open land into enemy territory. There in the middle and far distance, further than the eye could see, were fields and towns and towers and factories full of men and women who wanted him dead. Closer, perhaps just beyond a hedgerow, were men with bayonets and hand grenades.
    ‘Have you been in combat before?’ asked Erich.
    Axel wondered whether to lie to him, to try to seem tougher than he was. But he realised there was no point. As soon as they started fighting together, he would be found out.
    ‘No. Have you?’
    Erich shook his head. Then he said, ‘I had three brothers. But all of them are gone. I am the last. The last of the Beckers.’
    Axel felt a stab of pity for his new friend. ‘I’ll look out for you,’ he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.
    ‘Do you miss home?’ said Erich.
    Axel paused to think. ‘I miss my bed and three hot meals a day. I miss Falken – our Schäferhund – and I miss my brother and sister, I suppose. I don’t know if I miss Wansdorf though. Do you miss Kreuzberg?’
    ‘Yes, of course. We live in a little apartment there. My mother and father are both teachers. What about your parents?’
    ‘My mother died,’ said Axel plainly. He had learned that was the best response when he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘My father works on the estate – Schloss Wansdorf. He is an estate manager for the baron.’
    ‘And you?’ asked Erich. ‘What did you do before this?’
    ‘Still at school,’ said Axel sheepishly. ‘Like you, I imagine.’
    Axel’s great ambition was to be a musician – but it seemed so preposterous that he never told anyone. He wondered whether to share it with Erich now. Only his younger sister, Gretl, knew. She often listened to Axel as he