Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Hill 53
Galicia
Austro-Hungarian Empire
February 1917
The Russian machinegun kept firing, bullets whizzing by overhead. Several bullets smacked into the cloth and flesh of Austrian soldiers while others impacted the dirt and rock, sending blood, dirt and flecks of stone into the air.Hill 53
Galicia
Austro-Hungarian Empire
February 1917
Hill 53 spat death and death found its home in good German-speaking men of the Landwehr.
Hitler crawled forward, grimacing as he was forced to trudge through the spilled guts of a dead Russian. Lutjens crawled beside him, gagging at the stench. A dozen other Austrian men crawled with him as they neared a trench system below the Russian machinegun nest.
Across the hillside, Austrian men died to Russian bullets, the flag of Dual Monarchy falling as its bearer joined the pile of corpses littering the hillside. The Russian trench Hitler, Lutjens and the other men of the 87th Infantry Brigade had arrived to provided some cover but Russian grenades were not long in coming. One Austrian grabbed a grenade and threw it away but it exploded too close, his face shredded with shrapnel and eardrums ruptured from the blast. He fell on top of his comrades who used his corpse as a meat shield.
A Russian poked out from the next trench farther up the hill, rifle raised. Hitler fired, missed, but Lutjens shot took the Ivan in the shoulder who fell back clutching the bloody wound.
Hitler pulled back the M1895’s bolt, the empty shell casing flying into the air, and he saw it was empty. Reaching into his satchel he found it void of ammunition.
“Anyone have spare En-Bloc clips?” he asked aloud.
Three were handed to him from three separate soldiers. He nodded thanks to his comrades as he reloaded and put the other two in his satchel. More and more Landwehr men arrived to the trench, avoiding pot-shots and the occasional grenade though several more men died.
Hitler looked to find the ranking sergeant but saw none nor an officer. With mute surprise he noted he and Lutjens were the ranking men in the trench. The only sergeant in the trench had a bullet hole in his throat, body sprawled across the trench wall, blood turning the ground into mud.
Grenades and mortars slammed among the trench, many of the Austrian soldiers protected by the walls, sandbags and mounds of dirt and wood. The Russians had held the trench for hours but several squads had secured it at great cost, with Hitler and his men bolstering the Austrian-held position.
An approaching Austrian neared the trench but a mortar blew up next to the man, his leg shredded and screaming for help. Another soldier ran out to get him, dodging gunfire by luck alone. He picked up his comrade, carrying the screaming man like a child, but three more bullets slammed into the rescuer, pike grey uniform staining crimson as fell, the wounded man screaming for relief yet none would come, his cries drowned out by the clatter of machineguns and the wailing screams of mortars and artillery.
Hitler eyed the sky, the sun beginning to set. A brief thought of withdrawing entered his mind but he clamped down on it before it manifested. To do so was tantamount to cowardice.
“We stay here,” he said. Russian gunfire screaming death further up the hill. “We wait until nightfall. We try to advance now we’ll get shredded.”
“What about retreating?” asked a private, a young conscript who was as pale as milk, voice trembling.
Hitler moved to stand beside the private and stared at him, dark blue eyes matching pale blue.
“If you take one step back without an order I will shoot you myself,” Hitler whispered threateningly, the boy-soldier gulped but nodded.
“We do not retreat unless an officer tells us to do so or we are relieved. If neither happens, we advance and take the hill. It is killing our men for hundreds of meters around, stalling our advance.” Hitler walked up to the private, and though he was of average height he stood tall like a goliath, his presence dominating the crowded trench.
The few dozen men who hid from the death above with them nodded, leaning against the rock of the hill to avoid any grenades and potshots from Russian sharpshooters.
Hitler sat against the hillside, sliding down to the ground, taking his helmet off and running a hand through his dark hair.
“We wait. If an opportunity presents itself, we take it.”
+ + +
Night came with the Russians slowing their rate of fire and eventually ceasing as the flanks of Hill 53 were littered with Austrian dead. Hitler, Lutjens and dozens of their comrades waited in the trench, some having dozed off for a brief moment, their bodies starved of proper rest in the drive to push the Russians out of Eastern Galicia.
From below the hill came the quiet breathing and rustle of hundreds of fresh soldiers.
“Who is in command here?” came a thick Ruthenian accent speaking German.
“I am,” Hitler said, Lutjens more than happy to have him bear the weight of command.
“Good,” the Ruthenian moved closer. “Captain Fedir Melnik, 33rd Common Army Infantry Brigade.”
“Corporal Adolf Hitler, 87th Landwehr Infantry Brigade.”
“Pleasure, corporal,” the Ruthenian held out his hand which Hitler could see just barely in the moonlight. Hitler shook it after a brief hesitation.
The Common Army officer looked up the hill, appearing a darker shade of black against the star-speckled black of the night sky.
“It’ll be a bitch and a half to take.”
“That it will, sir.”
“At least we have this forward position, thanks to your unit.” Hitler swelled with pride as the Ruthenian began to quietly order his men into position.
It took another hour, with hundreds of more Austro-Hungarian soldiers slowly moving up the hill, finding any nook and cranny to buckle down, ready to advance to take the top and move down the other side, similarly filled with khaki-clad Ivans.
Hitler watched Melnik with his men, seeing the way his men responded to the warm charisma and iron discipline the Ruthenian displayed.
Though he was not of German blood, Hitler could admire the Slavic officer’s presence.
Melnik crouch-walked to where Hitler and Lutjens sat.
“We’ll attack just prior to dawn, before the sun is directly in our eyes. Better get some rest, corporals. You’ve more than earned it.”
“Yes, sir,” Hitler said, noting Luthens already softly snoring.
+ + +
As the pitch black sky became bruised with red-orange on the horizon, casting the void of night a purple tinge, the whistle blew.
Melnik blew his whistle, waving one arm forward, other clutching his rifle.
“Go, go, go! For the Empire!”
“For the Empire!” The men, both Austrian and non-Austrian yelled, several European races united behind common principle and goals, a testament to a beneficial facet of the Empire Hitler had longed despised.
Up Hill 53, through rocky and icy terrain, the men of the Austro-Hungarian Army advanced. Bullets, spewed from machineguns or fired from rifles, cut through several ranks of infantry, entire squads being wiped out by concentrated fire.
Hitler ran, stumbling as his foot slipped on the cold night ice, hauled upright by the ever dependable Lutjens.
“Come on, Adi, hurry!” Lutjens said. Hitler ran beside his friend, his brother-in-arms, and neared the Russian trench beneath the hilltop. Grenades, thrown by soldiers carrying several, landed among the Russian lines, killing some, wounding others, but more importantly suppressing the incoming fire for a moment.
He yelled as he jumped into the trench, landing near an Ivan. He fired from the hip but he was so close he couldn’t miss. The bullet slammed into the Russian who fell forward, impaling himself on Hitler’s bayonet. Blood spilled forth from Ivan’s open mouth, shock carved on his face. Hitler shoved the dying man off him, hearing the Russian mutter, “Mamochka…”
Rising, covered in dirt from the floor and blood from the enemy soldier, Hitler joined the increasing throng of Austrian pike grey against the isolated amounts of Russian khaki. They shot, bludgeoned, stabbed and more as they pushed the Russians out of the trench who fled uphill to their hilltop bunker.
The Russian machineguns at the bunker hilltop cared not if the men charging up the hill wore pike grey or khaki, their gunfire cut down any who left the trench.
Captain Melnik looked out over the killing field. Major Olbrecht, the regimental commander, crouched-ran to the Ruthenian. Hitler was nearby, able to hear them despite the cacophony of war.
“We’ll lose a hundred men in the final push,” Melnik said.
“At least a hundred, likely double that,” Olbrecht agreed. The Austrian sighed. “Command is getting impatient. They want this hill taken. It dominates a kilometer in every direction. We take this, we break the Russian lines.” Olbrecht took off his helmet, running a hand through his auburn hair. “We’ll need either to mass assault or send a man up there with a satchel charge.”
Melnik paused and glanced at the Landwehr officer. “A lone man? It’s suicide.”
“As is sending our regiments up that hill for many our men.” Olbrecht sighed heavily. “We’ll send a lone man. If that fails, we’ll mass assault.”
Melnik hesitated but nodded after a moment. “Who to send?” the Ruthenian asked as bullets whizzed by overhead.
“I’ll go,” Hitler heard himself say. He felt muted, detached, as if he watched himself volunteer from the third-person.
Lutjens leaned in, “What the hell are you doing?”
Olbrecht and Melnik looked at him.
“Are you sure, corporal?” Olbrecht asked.
“Jawohl, mein Herr.”
“Good man,” the major said, leaning down and hefting a satchel, handing it to Hitler.
Melnik came over. “Brave or foolish?”
“If I die, I’ll be a brave fool; if I survive… well, probably still a fool.”
Melnik laughed. “If you survive, I’ll make sure you’ll get a medal.”
“As will I,” Olbrecht said. Hitler clasped the satchel charge, feeling its weight. He secured it by putting the strap over his shoulder. “We will provide covering fire until you get in position.”
Hitler nodded, walking to a spot he figured would give him the best path to the bunker. Lutjens stopped him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” Hitler said nothing. “Why even do this?” his friend exclaimed. “Why, Adi?”
“I don’t know quite why, Paul. It came out of my mouth before I realized what I said. Honor, glory, pride, it is a mix of all those things I’m sure.”
“You’re an idiot,” an exasperated Lutjens said.
“Well I won’t disagree with that.” He digged into his pack, picking out two letters that lay within. “For my sisters, just in case-”
Lutjens took them abruptly. “I’ll hold these for you but only hold. I’ll give them back to you afterwards.”
Hitler checked his rifle, ensured he had a half-dozen En-Bloc clips, and readied himself to climb over the trench wall.
Olbrecht looked over at him, seeing him ready.
Almost three hundred Austro-Hungarian soldiers had their rifles raised and ready, several machineguns were positioned , either Austrian Schwarzlose that was hauled up the hill or the Russian Maxim variant. “Open fire!”
As the covering fire began, Hitler darted forward over the trench wall, running up the hill, using the handful of mortar-created foxholes to dive into, putting as many rocks and what not in between the bunker’s line of sight and him.
They still saw him despite the efforts.
Gunfire peppered the ground as he ran, hearing the whizzing whistle of the bullets as they tried to kill him. He ran like a madman, diving behind a boulder. The Russians knew exactly where he was and unloaded a lot of ammunition at him, hoping he would pop up. Heart beating rapidly, he unhooked the charge’s wrap from his shoulder, took a deep breath and waited.
The gunfire from the machinegun aimed at him ceased. He thought about waiting further… what if it was a ploy to draw him out of cover. After a brief hesitation, he realized he couldn’t risk waiting. His comrades were depending on him.
Rising from cover, satchel charge primed, he threw it, watching it arc through the air. He had aimed for the opening where the machineguns within fired from.
He missed.
The satchel charge bounced off the cement top, falling down the hill’s gentle slope.
When it blew, it would do little to no damage. Cursing, he surged forward. The Russians gun crew looked at him, quickly reloading their weapon. They yelled in their language as Hitler neared. One khaki-clad soldier raised his rifle. Hitler dived for cover, the Mosin-Nagant round missing him by a finger’s width. He fired, the M1895 bucking against his shoulder and the Ivan fell down dead. Crawling forward, he grabbed the smoking charge and threw it, this time better aimed. The charge flew into the gap. Turning, he ran back to the Austrian-held trench. The Russians inside scrambled to throw the satchel out while another took aim at him.
A shot was fired and an explosion followed, throwing Hitler forward haphazardly.
Lying on the cold ground, he turned to look skyward, the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, basking the land in reddish-orange, smoke from the destroyed bunker drifting into the sky. A dozen Russian corpses littered the ruptured bunker.
A ringing noise bothered him, he shook his head to clear it but to no avail. He felt rather than heard men of the Landwehr and Imperial Common Army advance, driving a wedge into the dazed Russian survivors from the trenches surrounding the bunker and pushing back down the hill.
Lutjens’ concerned face appeared over him.
Hitler tried to say something but instead a cough came out. The taste of copper filled his mouth.
He tried to get up but pain flared in his shoulder and side. Lutjens was saying something but Hitler couldn’t hear it. His eyes felt heavy. Closing them, the quiet darkness welcomed him.
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