"The street enters the house."
~ Umberto Boccioni
Johann shivered as he lay amongst the early morning frost, envious of the sight he was observing.
The Zollverein coal mine was one of the largest in the world, and the French held it. The workers of Essen remained on strike, so the French had brought in workers from France itself, before shipping the coal back to France. The light and the heat from the industrial area made the mine and the adjoining railway station stand out clearly amidst the dawn, it made it all the easier to make out the large number of French soldiers guarding the perimeter.
The French no longer felt safe in the cities, the Red Front had seen to that. To operate in the numbers large enough to ensure there wouldn’t be a communist waiting to drag individual soldiers into alleyways wasn’t worth the time or the expense, and as such large military concentrations were now only focused around the industries they had come for in the first place, yet that remained unacceptable to the boss.
There was no doubt that Hitler had taken the Red Front to great heights, his experience in Munich was helping them to galvanise popular support whilst giving them a bloody nose, although Johann had to wonder whether or not so many large raids were worth the visual impact when they would always result in so many casualties.
Hitler had boasted that the Red Front was like a hydra, that for every one of their number the French killed others would be inspired to join the cause thanks to their sacrifice. In one sense this was true, their numbers had swelled to the extent that Johann had lost count of how many cells the movement actually had inside the Ruhr and how many volunteers had slipped in from other parts of Germany, but on the other hand the constant losses gave him an unavoidable awareness of his own mortality. At every meeting he saw less familiar faces and more unfamiliar ones, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many martyrs he would inspire if today was the day that his luck ran out.
Johann drew comfort from the fact that he was taking risks for a cause which he believed in, it was at least one advantage he had over many of the French soldiers. If rumours were to be believed the French government was on the brink of collapse over their handling of the situation in the Ruhr, French workers were on the brink of a general strike in favour of their German comrades. A few more blows, and the Ruhr would be free. If France wasn’t getting anything from the Ruhr, even the bourgeois politicians would realise that there was no point in continuing their occupation, and Johann was confident that he and his comrades had enough mortar shells to ensure that the Zollverein would remain unproductive until it was back in German hands.
The minenwerfer they had secreted from the Wetter armouries were not perfect for the job, but they were the best they could afford. One potential advantage of the influx of new recruits was more veterans, some of whom were able to properly operate a mortar, at least that was what he had been told. A clatter behind him made Johann wince as he turned around and glared at the comrade who had created such a racket. He only hoped that the railway was noisy enough for their build-up to be ignored for it to be too late. Johann gave the order to fire.
A few loud clanking sounds behind him and the attack had begun, looking into his binoculars again he could see that one Frenchman was lying on the ground, whilst far too many more were alert to what was going on. He ordered his mortar teams to fire again, and after a more clanking noises, an explosion that was visible to the naked eye signalled that they had done their job. As the fire began to spread, he checked his newly acquired French pistol once more, before giving the order to attack.
Amongst the smoke and confusion, the first tracer bullets began to emerge. It had been a long time since the French could be taken for granted just because an initial surprise had succeeded. He tried to keep his head down as he ran headfirst into the fray, aware only of the sounds of gunfire to his front and the screams behind him. Eventually they were close enough to the burning railway station to open fire themselves, mowing down the French and suppressing the fire of those who remained, whilst Johann focused on secreting himself behind the platform entrance. He fired three shots, forcing the French inside the station terminal to take cover, whilst he threw in one of the few grenades he had been given for the task. There were shouts of distress before a loud crump rendered the entire room silent, Johann supposed the French inside couldn’t have seen the grenade until the last moment thanks to the smoke from the burning locomotive, although he could see all too clearly that the station had been taken at great cost. Out of the twenty men he had had by his side, only twelve remained. Including those who could actually use the mortars again. He hated to think in those terms, but it wouldn’t be long before they were under fire again, and without an equaliser they would soon have to flee. He considered whether or not to give the order to retreat before the smoke cleared, before a figure emerged from it.
The elderly man was clearly a worker albeit of some seniority, though he was not one Johann’s comrades. His face was blackened and his body was quivering, as he lurched from side to side. Clearly the man was in shock, it was the explanation as to why he would wander into a shootout, and why he would do so swearing loudly in French.
Johann could not speak much of the language but it was easy to tell that the man was not amused with the events that had taken place, by the same token the way the Frenchman went silent when he realised that he wasn’t amongst blue uniforms. He started to raise his hands and back away, gibbering something about a family, before one of the new recruits, a man by the name of Reinhard, shot him in the stomach.
The worker crumpled up on the ground, trying to breathe, as the comrade aimed at his head, before Johann blocked his way. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Johann snarled,
“Putting him out of his misery.”
The young man’s face seemed unfazed by what he had just done.
“And who ordered you to do that?”
The new recruit smirked, “There are no orders here comrade, aside from the our goal. I spotted a Frenchie and I shot him. Shall I consult you the next time we’re under fire?”
“That man was a railway worker. He wasn’t a soldier and he certainly wasn’t a threat.”
“He was still French.”
This was the sort of attitude Johann had come to fear from some of the new recruits. What had started as a struggle of workers against an army sent by capitalists for him was simply a return of the war between France and Germany for others, a punch and judy show compared to what had been the main event, but one with the same malice behind. The same malice that had been used the divide the international working class.
“And if he was a German worker would you shoot him too?” Johann scathed.
“Well if you love them so much you won’t want this old fart to suffer, will you?” Johann tried to control his breathing, standing back and looking away, as Reinhard raised his gun again. The old man let out a whimper of protest, before the ground began to shake.
The explosion had been off by some distance, though it had still caused the argument to cease as Johann dived onto the ground along with comrades, as he noticed they were safe, he tentatively looked up in the direction the shout had come from. It was a dread inducing sight.
The light of the dawn had not quite broken through the smoke, but the shape was visible nonetheless, a vast metallic fortress, spewing out black exhaust fumes, headed straight towards them. Before Johann could react the monster had fired another shell, this was came disturbingly close. He had heard of tanks before, but never like this, with its size and rapidity of fire. It even seemed to have two turrets, as if the French had brought a battleship ashore. He was tempted to give the order to run, before a voice behind spoke with greater authority.
“Mortars! Get into position!”
It was the upstart recruit again, betraying Johann’s suspicions that he likely had seen far more of the war than Johann had.
“Feuer frei!”
The mortar team that was left had also regained their composure, and they fired with a good degree of accuracy. A round exploded on top of the giant machine, but it didn’t even slow its progress. The French tank responded all too quickly.
Johann couldn't quite understand the sensation of being thrown off of the ground, only the winded feeling that followed. A bulk dropped in front of him, Reinhard. A face that had been so contorted with malice only a few moments before was now replaced with frozen expression of shock.
Johann tried to shout to him but he could barely breathe, he could only gasp desperately for air. He grabbed Reinhard’s shoulder and shook him as hard as he could, but received no response. Only the same miserable wide-eyes that no longer moved. There was no time to grieve for the man, for Johann knew that if he didn't move quickly he would share the same fate. With a wince he realised he could still stand without his legs giving out. He hobbled to find cover amongst the smoke.
Not everyone has died, two of his comrades were left alive after he’d checked. The three martyrs in waiting staggered together as French small arms fire opened up.
“Everything will be alright. It will be alright.” Johann said to no-one in particular as he heard shouts in French behind them. More bullets flew over their heads, making a zipping noise that was now all too familiar as the pinged and twanged off of the burning metal around them. The two did their best to keep moving, until one bullet found its target. The young man screamed as he collapsed, Johann dropped as well, the pain of doing so was exhausting.
The French voices grew louder as he began to slip out of consciousness.
---
Johann awoke to a sound of clanging, and for a moment he thought the mortars might still be firing, until he noticed a guard shouting at him to get up. He was in a cell at seemed, despite far too many parts of his body screaming in pain he had noticed the bars, and the guard telling him to get up. Johann tried to comply, but his legs protested as he found himself preparing to go back to sleep. The door clicked open, and the guard kicked him squarely in the stomach. Johann screamed, apparently he was no longer winded.
The man stood over him, shouting to another man unseen, before they both dragged him down a short corridor, his feet banging off the floor, before he was brought into a small office. Johann’s head was still ringing but it seemed somewhat cosier than the darkened dwellings he had just been battered and dragged from. Having been rested in an armchair, he realised that was now sat across from a French officer.
“I was a prisoner like you, once.”
The man was older than Johann, certainly old enough to have fought in the war. Had he learned German in prison?
Johann winced as he tried to sit up straight. “I hope you were never in as much pain as I am right now.”, he murmured. The Frenchman didn’t seem to take much notice, “No, I didn’t.” He said after a spell. “Your countrymen treated me about as well as I could expect. It would be my pleasure to grant you the same treatment.
“Your fellow countrymen don’t seem to agree.” Johann motioned to the guards who had woke him up so briskly.
“That is because we are not obligated to treat you well, herr…”
“Fischer, Johann Fischer,”
“Well, Herr Fischer, you are a violent terrorist operating in an area of French jurisdiction. I could have you shot just now and there would be nothing in international law to spare you. Your life is in my hands, and I would like to help you, if only you can help me first.”
“Is this the approach you’re going with? Soften me up and then have someone beat me in the next room until I’m crying out for you, Herr...”
“My name is Captain de Gaulle of the French Army of Occupation.”
“Well Captain, you can shove your help up your…”
The Frenchman held up the palm of his hand, and despite having temporarily recovered his energy, Johann quickly slumped back into silence,
“No torture here, that’s not how we do things. I’ve fought you reds before. It’s either life or death. We won’t torment you. You communists always want to have the power to control your lives, well now you have it. Is it, life or death, Fischer?
Johann sighed, and stared at the wall. He continued to sit in silence, whilst De Gaulle turned on the radio.
“If it is easier for you, I’ll tell you what I’d like from you, in return for your life.”
Static emanated from the device, until a faint voice began to speak. As De Gaulle adjusted the radio further, it arose over the crackling.
“Fellow Germans. This is Essen. This is the Red Front conducting the worker’s struggle in the Ruhr. We are fighting the French in the Ruhr, and addressing the German people. The time for revolution has come. The time has come to put an end to the French occupation. The time has come to put an end.”
Johann smiled, he knew that voice.
---
After over an hour of interrogation, Captain de Gaulle had had the terrorist sent back to his cell. The arrogant upstart had given him valuable information, and he would give him more in time, of that he was sure of. Just as he had seen in Poland, these communists loved talking, no doubt that was why they were broadcasting to anyone who would listen. It had allowed him to get a description of this ‘Shadow Man’ that had been causing them so much trouble. He would make sure the name Adolf Hitler was passed onto his colleagues in intelligence, he felt that they would vindicate his private beliefs that the the Red Front was not an avatar of the German government, and that it could be crushed without having to march all the way to Berlin. Perhaps, in some way, it might help get France out of the Ruhr.
Captain de Gaulle was a patriot but he liked to consider himself a realist, France was not helping itself rebuild from this occupation. The damage the communists had inflicted was only the most visible problem with directly extorting German industry rather than making it work for them. His superiors must also have understood this, not that many of them seemed to care. If he could help convince them that they were stoking a real communist rebellion in the Ruhr rather than responding to German provocations, then it might make sense.
If there was one thing that they hated even more than a German, it was a communist German.
---
Or a communist Austrian for that matter.
Boccioni was trying to summarise the basic principle of Futurism. He didn't survive the First World War.
