Short story intro - critique/criticism welcome!

JimmyJimmy

I wrote a short story last week. Here is the intro. would really appreciate any comments or suggestions on the piece. many thanks, Jimmy



The situation had become critical. Of the platoon of thirty six German soldiers that had left the 2nd Panzer Division to cross the bridge into Boulogne-sur-Mer, eight now lay dead. It wasn’t simply the loss of lives that vexed Corporal Gerhardt Strunz; it was the unexpectedness of the resistance. Intelligence had informed him that Boulogne was vacant of British troops. Strunz had been tasked with confirming this before re-joining the 2nd Division in Allied occupied Calais. Strunz had relayed this information to his men just that morning. It roughly translated to:

“We will enter Boulogne via the bridge at 08.00. Our mission is to confirm that the town is void of Allied soldiers, which intelligence has assured me is the case... but it is critical that we remain vigilant!”

Strunz was very young to hold such a high rank but since enlisting in the German army, he had repeatedly impressed superiors with his attributes of discipline, bravery and madness – the trio of traits that all fine soldiers possess. He had a deep receding hair line that he kept shaved tight to his scalp so that it blended uniformly into the stubble that covered his face and neck. The tall lean Corporal had an authoritative manner of speaking, with the effect that when delivering a speech his troops would not solely heed his instruction, they would be coerced into believing as fact, every word uttered by the celebrated soldier.

“We will enter the town in six groups of six” Strunz continued. “In each of the six subgroups I have nominated a team leader, all of whom have been briefed of their responsibilities. You must follow the close instruction of your team leader, secure your assigned area and report back to the main square in Boulogne at 08.45, so that I can radio and confirm that the town is indeed void of enemy resistance. Is that clear to all? Very good, in that case gather your gear and report back here at 07.45. We move out at 08.00.”

On the other side of the bridge in Boulogne, there was a large church. Chunks of cement had been gouged from the church’s wall in the previous days artillery fire. At one end of the church a bell tower craned above the other buildings of the small town. Just below the bell tower was a large clock that had remained intact. The clock read 07.59 when Corporal Strunz ordered the first group to advance over the bridge. By the time the clock reached 08.00 all six were dead.

The team leader of the first group, Nerlinger had advanced only fifteen steps before he was slain. He had stopped to survey the banks of the river over which he now stood. The men behind him heard a shrill noise, and then a dull thud and Nerlinger slumped to the ground. They soon followed.

“Retreat! Get back...!” screamed Corporal Strunz but the men never heard his cry. In the seconds before their death the men searched frantically for shelter but they were fatally exposed.

One hundred yards back from the bridge, Henning Munzel, second in command of this splinter platoon of the 2nd division, twisted his neck around and with a horrified look on his face searched for a response from Struntz. Strunz remained stoic. He chewed his bottom lip and stared at the town.

“There is a sniper above the church” he said eventually, “could be the roof, could be the bell tower, I think the bell tower. We must get somebody up there.”

“But Corporal!” Munzel shrieked. “Have you not seen what has just happened? Surely we should seek an alternative entry point to the town. An attack from here is suicide!” Strunz shifted his stare from the town and his burning eyes fell on Munzel. “Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Are you a coward Munzel? Go and fetch me Lübbe and Mainz at once.”

Munzel scurried off and Strunz retrained his eyes on the town. He stared at the stone buildings, the flat roofs, and then back to the bell tower. “Christ” he thought, “what a mess a supposedly vacant town and six men butchered” Munzel returned, flanked by Lübbe and Mainz. They were panting heavily, frightened looking but feigned enthusiasm.

pickarooney

Very good. I don't know that I've ever read a WWII story told from a German POV so that in itself appealed to me. The contrast between Strunz's thoughts and words also looks fascinating.

Have you finished the story yet?

JimmyJimmy

Many thanks for the feedback. Yeah i've finished the story, here is the next section if you are interested to read on.

“OK, this is what we will do” said Strunz. “We cannot cross the bridge but we must somehow get across that river. I am going to lead and I want both of you to follow.”

Lübbe and Mainz stared at the man while he gave his orders. He was irate, spitting as he spoke and gesturing wildly. The young men were new to the battalion but trusted him. They had heard stories from the older soldiers back at camp. Some alleged that Strunz had three testicles.

“We will scale the wall, run to the river bank and wade across using the bridge as shelter?” Strunz’s beady eyes again fell on the bell tower, high above the other buildings, a solitary tower in the blue morning sky. “Ok men, follow my line, let’s move!” With that Strunz made a wild dash for the low wall that lined the river bank.

Four hundred yards away in the bell tower, dressed in khaki pants and an olive green t-shirt, was Second Lieutenant Colin Potts. The young soldiers’ hair was shaved short and his ears stuck out giving him a mousy complexion. He was sitting on a wooden box looking through a set of binoculars. He had a slight grin on his face as he assessed the carnage he had created on the bridge.

Suddenly, to the right Potts noticed a green blur dash towards the river bank. He sprang up, grabbed his rifle and lay flat on the ground. He rested his rifle upon the wooden box and took aim but the blur had disappeared into cover beneath the bridge. Behind him however, struggling to keep up, were two other soldiers. Potts stared down the first, who had one leg thrown over the wall. He levelled his crosswire on the base of the wall, lifted slowly until he centred on the man and stretched a long bony finger over the trigger. Pop! He gently released a shot and through his telescopic lens saw the man grab his throat in horror and slump back behind the wall.

Potts searched for the second man, he too was struggling over the wall. He held his breath and quickly let off another shot but missed. Potts exhaled loudly and realigned. The man had dropped from the wall and looked around him. Ignoring the shield of the bridge he made a dash down the grassy hill towards the river bank. Potts calmly took aim at a spot five yards in front of the man, waited for a moment and squeezed the trigger. Through his lens he watched as the running man collapsed forward, hit the ground heavily and tumbled forward with surprising momentum. There was a splash and the man lay prone on the river bank.

Potts leapt forward, grabbed his binoculars and tried to locate the German that had fled below the bridge. He spotted the green blur just below him but just as his lenses caught up with the figure the blur entered the church below. Potts lurched clumsily knocking the box over, snatched his pistol and ran to the entrance of the bell tower.

storker

Definitely an interesting start. Your description of the corporal is good, and probably an accurate description of the attitude and capabilities of German NCOs after years of training and a successful campaign in Poland. Also you describe well how the men look to him for leadership. In fact, German NCOs generally led at a higher level then their contemporaries in other armies.

Just a couple of quibbles (and they're from memory, and may well be invalid, so feel free to correct me where I'm wrong)...

If I remember correctly, a German infantry platoon would be led by a sergeant. I was wondering why a corporal would be leading a full-strength platoon.

I was surprised that none of the first six were able to find cover before being dropped by the sniper. Assuming Potts is firing a bolt-action Lee Enfield, that's a serious bit of shooting. I thought of Lee Harvey Oswald while I was reading it.

I was also wondering why the platoon leader breaks the platoon up into groups of six, given that the German platoon of the time consisted of three squads and a platoon HQ. The six teams of six idea suggests a rather confusing mix-and-match.

As I understand it, a platoon didn't (and doesn't) report to a division, even though it will be part of one. To the men in a platoon, their mother ship is the company or battalion, and that's also where their orders would come from.

Your story is interesting, though, and I'd be interested to see where it's going. I've read a fair few WW2 stories from the German POV (mainly when in my teens), including Sven Hassel (alternating between sh1t and good), Leo Kessler (so-so), Guy Sajer, Heinz Guderian (non-fiction), and Willi Heinrich (brilliant)*, and I think you've got the tone right. All I'd say as a reader is watch the dialogue, and don't give them German accents.

Good job!

Stork

*If you haven't read Heinrich's "The Willing Flesh" aka "Cross of Iron" and "The Savage Mountain" aka "Crack of Doom", then you really should.

JimmyJimmy

Many thanks for the advice Storker. To be honest i wrote the story because i wanted to follow the idea of an brave & experienced soldier vs a young naive one (which as the story develops you learn Potts is). my knowledge of the german army & WWII is questionable to say the least. i wrote the story and then did some research to try and minimise any historical or army inaccuracies but i don't think i fully succeeded. anyway, I appreciate the feedback!

heisenburger

I wouldn't mind reading the rest of this story if it was available...

heisenburger

Good man with the deleted comment.

JimmyJimmy

Aside from having a terrific aim Colin Potts was an awful soldier. He came from a rich town on the outskirts of London and had defied his father’s wishes by enrolling in the army. Less than a week into training camp at Sandhurst, Potts knew he had made a big mistake. The other boys were stronger, rougher and meaner than he was. In basic training he performed abysmally. Once, in the black of night his whole squadron were torn from their bunks and made to stand outside in the rain. Lieutenant Drake marched up and down the line brandishing the butt of a joint.

“Well boys, l’m sure you all know what this is and I'm sure you know whose it is so I want some fast answers. Unless the scumbag who was smoking this rabbit **** steps forward we’re gonna stand out here all night.” Potts stared straight ahead. Honouring his word, Drake had the whole battalion lie flat on the sodden ground, their faces in the muddy puddles and the rain pelting against their backs. After forty minutes Potts stood up.

“I smoked the joint sir” he said.

“Of course you did Potts you useless bastard. Ok everybody, back to your bunks, you can thank Potts here in the morning once I’m through with him.” Potts spent the night with his face in the mud. Potts was hated by his superiors, hated for showing weakness. He expected the other boys in 3rd Infantry Division to sense his weakness and go hard on him but they didn’t. They know he was weak alright but they pitied him and that was worse. It all changed for him however when he began military occupational specialties training and first got to shoot a rifle. Armed with a M4 carbine, Potts could shoot the top off a beer bottle two hundred yards away. The only person more astonished than Drake of Potts’s marksmanship was Potts himself. The tall wiry seventeen year old kid was still regarded as a liability by his squadron but he would go to France and would kill many Germans from elevated positions.

By the time Strunz reached the door of the church he was exhausted. He had waded across the river and his wet uniform clung to him. He rested momentarily. His lungs were burning but he was resolute. There was a job at hand; he would rest once he had earned it. He burst for the stairs and tackled them two at a time. Above he could see a column of light. He had his right hand on his pistol, partly to stifle any noise that would alert the sniper and partly so that he could quickly let off a volley of bullets upon entering the bell tower.

He was visualising, the scene as he mounted the stairs – the sniper, leaning over the edge of the building with his rifle aimed over the bridge expecting another onslaught. The sniper would hear Strunz just as he entered the chamber and begin to turn but before he could twist his neck around he would be struck with a volley of bullets, slump forward and fall dramatically from the bell tower.

As Strunz neared the final flight of stairs he slowed and began to advance very deliberately. He controlled his breathing to a short wheeze and edged up the steps one at a time. When he reached the final step he withdrew his gun and aimed it before him. There was a short corridor leading into the bell tower, he took a step out of the darkness of the stairwell and into the sunlit corridor. In the sudden brightness he struggled to see before him but still he crept forward taking small silent steps, his whole body tense.

Potts stood in wait inside the door pressed against the wall. He could hear the man now, moving slowly, the gravel from his boots crunched softly against the floor. The man was just outside, standing so close now that he could hear his breathing, a hissing noise almost. He raised his pistol, aimed at the open doorway but before he could reach the trigger there was a scream and the man rushed through the doorway into the centre of the room.

Potts spun desperate to get one clean shot away but the German tackled him before he could steady his hand. BANG! He shot wildly and missed. The man was faster, more agile than he expected, he flung himself upon the boy and they fell together to the floor. Potts managed to twist the man in the air and landed on top of him. The man felt strong beneath him, writhing, twisting, wildly trying to break free. Potts grappled frantically, and managed to pull his right arm free, the arm holding the pistol. He drove the butt of the gun onto the man’s temple again and again. The man dropped his gun but swung his elbow across catching Potts’s arm, and sending his gun scattering across the floor so that now both were unarmed. The German instead of being weakened by the blows to the head seemed to draw strength from them. He turned Potts flinging him to the floor and then fell upon him. They were eyeball to eyeball now, close enough to kiss. The man’s forehead had split right open but he seemed unaffected, possessed with a murderous determination. Potts stared at the man’s eyes, narrow demented slits. The man grabbed and squeezed at Potts’s neck with his left arm. Potts struggled but his arms felt heavy; he was pinned to the floor helplessly. Words came to his throat but they were barely audible. “Please, stop... wait...” He felt a sharp pain in his midriff and then a warm running sensation. His body went into spasm. The knife inside him felt like a hot poker. He lay still now and dropped his hands resigned to his fate. His head rushed as if in freefall but he lay completely still. He stared up at the man before him, noticed the design on the lapel above his shoulder indicating his high rank. Finally his eyes rested on the man’s grizzled face, weary now looking down at him almost sympathetically.

Strunz jabbed his knife into the boy. A boy, that’s all he was. His soft face he could see had never required a razor. He had been thrust into a war before he had really begun to live and now he will live no more. “I have squeezed and stabbed all of the life out of him” Strunz thought as he kneeled over the boy. He rolled off him and lay on the floor, the bump on his head was throbbing and with each throb blood trickled down his forehead. He felt dazed, but he fought the urge to lie down. He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled forward uncontrollably. He walked towards the bell towers opening, taking small steps “take it slow he thought, take it slow”. He reached the steep edge. He wanted to wave, to gesture to his men on the other side of the river but he just stood blinded. The morning sun poured over him and he couldn’t see anything through the sunlight.

Munzel was kneeling down, looking up at the bell tower nervously. Suddenly he saw a figure stagger to the edge, pause for a moment, then slump over the edge plunging to the ground. There was a commotion amongst the men. Many faces turned to Munzel looking for direction. Munzel still unsure of what he had just seen hesitated and looked around him. Still, the man stared at him growing more anxious. He got to his feet looked over at the town and then turned to the men. “The tower is secure, fall into line” he shouted. The men assembled into their units and as Munzel walked to the front of the line he overheard a soldier say that he thought it was Strunz who had fallen from the tower. Munzel rounded on him and slapped him across the face.

“How dare you doubt the Corporal” he yelled. “Did he not say he would give us a signal? Is a British soldier falling fifty feet from the sky not good enough for you?” As the clock on the bell tower read 08.11, the remaining twenty seven soldiers finally crossed the bridge into Boulogne.

pickarooney

Gripping stuff! The only qualms I'd have are with the jump from Potts' backstory to Strunz attacking the tower. The flashback itself is interesting but you give us all this about a character who dies a few paragraphs later. Granted, it keeps open the suspense as to who will win the battle in the belfry but it seems like a bit of a waste of a likeable character.

Bookslug

The poor soldier/ inspired sniper and the slow death scene reminded me a lot of two movies, full metal jacket and saving private Ryan.

Did you have these in mind as you were writing?

I enjoyed the ambiguous ending as well.

Not a writer so unfortunately I can only give you my gut feeling and that is that it needs a little tightening around the edges based on first reading.

Not that helpful, sorry, but on my phone on a train so a bit hard to analyse

JimmyJimmy

Thanks for the feedback guys. Its the first story i've written in a while and i just enjoyed seeing where the story took me and also sticking with it to completion. It definitely does need some tightening though so will take your suggestions on board when i re-write at a later date.

Regarding inspiration, while i have seen both of those movies and maybe they worked their way in to my subconscious there were two main reasons i wanted to write this story. Firstly i recently finished reading Slaughterhouse 5 so war and death was on my mind. This also co-incided with meeting a German man in a bar briefly. I had a chat with him & he just seemed to me to be masculinity personified. I'm 24 and pretty slight so in my head i was thinking about what would happen if i came up against a guy like this in a war scenario.

me-skywalker

I enjoyed it and was thinking reading it that I would love to read more of Strunz's battle with his inner self and after killing a boy how he would manage his wild urges, stern discipline and inner demons...... then he goes and kills himself with no definite emotional hint other than he killed a 'boy' who had jsut killed 8 of his soliders. That didn't sit with me.

Also while reading this bit:

After forty minutes Potts stood up.

“I smoked the joint sir” he said.

I was thinking would be interesting to hear Potts internal dialogue more, to find out more about his character, also what were his thoughts lying in the mud for 40mins. Then he dies so I can see why that wouldn't be totally neccessary

I do like the unpredictability that having a character with a backstory can also die, creates intrigue and wonder.

IMO I would love to see a rewrite to he ending so that you could come back to the character another time, maybe you killed him off too easily? (ah go on)