Common Field Mouse, Comrade Major! E-Book

Tim Bodan

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 137

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The fact that a small field mouse shook the regime of the GDR was not known to many people until now. Here now the story is told. The story of a simple soldier in the glorious National People's Army who, with the help of this little rodent, became a symbol of resistance to tyranny.

Leseprobe

Dedicated to all children who don’t let themselves be forbidden to think for themselves -

no matter how difficult it may be or how much it may hurt...

Content

Preface

Seelingrad

The Private

The Election

Muster

Extra training

Poor officers

Newspaper money

Chicanery

Big combat exercise

False reports

Occupation

Backing

The disabled company

Resistant losers

"Common field mouse, Comrade Major!"

Spaniens Himmel

and Freedom

The enemy wins and turns out to be a brother in arms

The interrogation

Triumph

The last posse

Five thousand men at tank pace

Discharge

Gift giving

The call for freedom

The end

Other books by the author

Preface

This story really happened this way, but it may well be that we do not mention one or the other name or have to present one or the other episode a little bit modified. This only partly has to do with our memory, but rather with the fact that the heroes of that time do not necessarily want to walk around with a sign "I was a hero of Seelingrad" and the much more numerous twerps and sneaks of the regime of the German Democratic Republic hopefully feel stupid enough as it is. Meaning, even without naming them with rank, name and day number.

The leadership of the GDR thought it was a great idea to call up all of its male students to the military reserve force at the beginning of their second academic year in order to, on the one hand, put them on the right track with the omnipresent military-political line and, on the other hand, to give them the tools for a career as an officer in the reserve force of the National People's Army NVA who was loyal to the Socialist Unity Party of Germany, SED, and the GDR regime.

In the fall of 1987, however, this went massively wrong. Two years later, the GDR fell. The culprit –as only insiders know– was a small rodent, a "common field mouse."

Seelingrad

The village is not really called that. Therefore, it cannot be found on any map and since we do not know how the people who live there today will react to the fact that now, after more than 25 years, the true role of this former bulwark of the GDR regime is finally being revealed, we do not want to name the location. In this regard, the fighting power of the place never lay in the strength of the garrison stationed there, but always in the psychological depth of the ways of thinking and behaving that were indoctrinated there. The fact that the deliberately preserved desolation of the area, which could hardly be surpassed in depressive capitalism, especially in the fall, was used mercilessly to get the minds of the young students as small and at the same time as nasty and inhuman as possible, was in the deep logic of the GDR leadership. The region had a lot to offer, but it took unbelievable effort and some resistance to even raise one's head out of the mud enough to see more than the mud- and clay-smeared tips of one's own boots or the heavy ammunition belt of the man in front. However, those who managed to pay attention to more than the shouts of superiors during the daily forced marches and assault drills could marvel at impressive sunrises and sunsets. For those who managed to elicit more from the area than the next best dry spot to throw themselves at the command "take cover!" without getting too wet, they saw an impressive abundance of rare plants and creatures and heard a wonderful variety of bird calls... even in the fall. Inside the bulwark, however, also called training base, there were no such moments of relaxation and acoustic-visual refuges. Here, psychologically perfect and ideologically deliberate attention had been paid to maximum emptiness and desolation in order to keep instructors and trainees trapped in maximum depression and thus, politically focused.

Nevertheless, as a small geographical hint, one may be told that a frustrated guard named Martin Konrad F. carved the slogan "Better sperm in the bulky waste than uranium in the urine!" into one of the nationally owned watchtowers on October 7, 1987, Republic Day.

The Private

He was different. He stood out. Yet it would never have become clear to an outsider without help what the reason was for this conspicuousness, the obvious standing out from the crowd. Admittedly, compared to many of his fellow students, he was a handsome figure at a good 2.04 meters tall and with an enormous torso, but by no means so unusual that one could have explained the constant turning of heads and the respectful murmuring in his vicinity. Anyway, the outsider, the uninitiated probably saw the special only in the behavior of his environment, rather than in the appearance of the Private himself. Even if one could then definitely see at a closer look that the guy was somehow different. He walked differently, he carried his things, but especially his heavy weapon, as if they were made for him. Above all, however, he held his head differently, that is high up. While all his fellow students went colorfully and individually into the "clothing and equipment storage" and then came out uniformly green and oppressively pressed, one somehow noticed no real difference in this Private. It seemed as if one could have put a bag over him and he would have remained just him... also in appearance. The only thing that was really visible and "tangible" if you will, apart from the fact that only this Private carried a heavy RPG6 and not, like all his fellow students, the lightweight Kalashnikov machine gun, was the fact that the Private had the lowest rank among all the thousands of students. He was a simple soldier, a private1, while everyone else had "made it" to at least noncommissioned officer in the obligatory and regular service of the GDR's National People's Army before going to university. That was actually completely impossible, because as a private in the GDR, you could not actually get a decent place at university. At least not without "proving oneself" in the NVA at the same time, so that one was also promoted. It should be noted here that in the GDR, and even more so in the NVA, proving oneself simply meant not stepping out of line. In general, the military system provided for automatic promotion to at least lance corporal even for the most recalcitrant "comrades," as all NVA members had to call each other. According to this, something very special must have happened that allowed this soldier here to remain a simple Private and yet, and this was the totally crazy thing about it, to wear the identification of the paratroopers and, on top of that, to study at university. It was just a tiny, narrow band of orange paint around his otherwise blank and, especially, stripe-less shoulder pieces, and yet this was the epitome of the unbelievable, the impossible, the "this can't be," even the rebellion.

But it wasn't just their own fellow students who were amazed. The training officers, who were actually standing here to drive the "gang of effeminate academics," stopped their shouting and stared at the newcomer with the heavy weapon dangling casually over his shoulder. Actually, they should have intervened now and admonished to the "suit and marching order," even shouted, but they were just silent and quite obviously did not understand the world anymore. Only the "elderlies," meaning the real soldiers, who had to serve here on the training base, behaved differently. With them, there was no stiff astonishment, but a kind of casual grin, a welcoming nod that one gives to a highly respected comrade-in-arms. They all wore combat gear and the good old AK47 at the ready. The leadership of the facility had put the elderlies here for intimidation and apparently normally it worked, because none of them liked the students. For them, these were all arrogant idiots who could go home again after six weeks, while one still had at least 190 days and more to go in this disgusting hell. The leadership wanted and promoted this hatred of the student recruits and each of the elderlies here had been carefully selected –without ever realizing it, of course– exactly for this purpose. It was not uncommon for them to be penal transferees or real criminals, and this also applied to a large extent to the officers. However, when the elderlies saw the Private, they forgot their hatred for a moment. They grinned and –this was already bordering on mutiny– saluted as the "Academic Soldier of the Reserve" walked past them. The Private simply nodded at them, while paying no attention to the rest of the staring and gesturing. At the end of the line of instructors, without paying attention to the officer there, he sheered out of the line of pressed men and addressed one of the long-serving elderlies. Nobody did hear what he said, but the bystanders saw the elderly jump in attendance and give a brief reply. The Private nodded, turned and headed purposefully to his billet, which the elderly had directed him to. Behind him, the elderly saluted with clicking heels.

1 In the National People's Army (NVA) the ordinary soldiers were subdivided threefold: the "private" had the lowest rank and was a nobody. He was followed by the "lance corporal," who in turn was followed by the "staff corporal."

The Election

Thanks to the shortcut the elderly had shown him, the Private was the first in his room. He looked for a bed near the window –there were six double bunk beds– and a locker nearby. Needless to say, he slept upstairs. On the table he discovered the magazine "Armeerundschau" and the journal "Neues Deutschland."2 Disgusted, he pushed the newspapers aside and threw his duffel bag on the table. By the time his roommates moved in, he had already put away his locker, was lying on his bed, and was scribbling formulas from a book on nuclear physics on a small piece of paper.

"Hi Sven," a voice well known to the Private called out, "Looks like they didn't completely tear us apart after all."

The Private looked up. Sure enough, there stood one of his fellow students, someone everyone just called Schmitti, the top of the class, and next to him six more from his study program. All of them physicists or students who wanted to become physicists. The Private grinned and replied, "No, they must have thought you were going to enforce some etiquette and discipline on me."

Schmitti just laughed hoarsely and made a dismissive hand gesture. The man next to him, a very unmilitary-looking, delicate non-commissioned officer named Jan, was about to open his mouth when a resounding "ATTENTION!" rang out. One of the elderlies had entered, immediately followed by a lieutenant, and loudly announced the superior officer. Even in here, the elderlies were running around with their assault rifles at the ready. Everything jumped to a standstill. Only the Private remained lying on his bed, engrossed in his book again. The lieutenant looked over at him briefly and then called out rather disinterestedly, "At ease, men!" He was one of the few upright men who had started an officer's career in the NVA out of conviction and then realized much too late what a lying and inhuman association this army was. "Let's not make life difficult for each other here, people. You want to get your six weeks over with and I basically want my peace and quiet, got it?"

"Yes, Sir!" came a general murmur, but the officer repeated the question. When no one responded this time, the Private looked up and realized that all eyes were on him. He eyed the officer and, after what felt like an eternity, gave him a nod that was not necessarily unfriendly, almost encouraging. The officer seemed relieved and explained the day's tasks.

"You have to appoint a group leader. I should give you a few instructions, but I see that you are all at least noncommissioned officers and you don't need such instructions. Besides, you need a cashier to collect the money for the newspapers."

"What newspapers?" asked one of the four, whom the student did not know from his course.

"These!" the lieutenant pointed to Armeerundschau and Neues Deutschland on the table.

"But we didn't order those!" protested Schmitti.

"Come on people, don't make trouble and deliver the money by the end of the week." the lieutenant already seemed annoyed. Still, his tone was rather conciliatory, intent on persuasion and with just a tiny hint of "You guys don't stand a chance anyway!"

"We all know...," but he didn't get any further, because at that moment another officer entered, a first lieutenant, one rank above the lieutenant.

"What's going on here?!" he roared, "Why is that soldier lying there on the bed?"

The Private scanned the newcomer with a glance and knew that this jerk was one of the "old farts" who had only gotten their study places because they had committed themselves to the NVA for eternity and three days. Regularly the worst students, they could now show the "young academics," who were otherwise far ahead of them, that they were the masters and were in charge. The little busybody crossed the room at a furious storming pace and stood up at the head of the bed, where the Private was still lying calmly, eyeing him. Apparently assuming that his fellow officer, who was firmly serving here, needed support, the "chief nut of the reserve," as these guys were secretly called, now yelled directly at the Private.

"Why are you lying here in bed? And then with boots on! There's an officer in the room. Get the hell down and report!" like machine-gun fire, he screeched each of his sentences. He almost spat; he was so excited.

"AN OFFICER IS PRESENT!

How dare you, you..."

Slowly, the Private sat up. His impressive upper body and bald head did their work. The first lieutenant fell silent with his mouth half open. The Private leaned forward, grasped the bed rail and slowly but fluidly, he came to stand directly in front of the reserve officer with an inverted upward circle forward. To execute such a movement so slowly cost normal people, if they managed it at all, an incredible amount of strength and energy. With Bodan, it looked as if he would never climb beds or leave them any other way. He stood casually, his eyes fixed on the first lieutenant, slowly pulling his headgear out of his pants pocket. The angry officer's jaw dropped when his obviously very strong and skilled counterpart, without taking his eyes even a whit from his opponent, put on the NVA paratrooper's beret and pointedly calmly adjusted it on his bald head. When he was done, he suddenly pulled his hands down, slammed his heels together so hard, and yelled in the face of the man standing directly in front of him:

"Correct, COMRADE!

ONE

officer is present."

Then he turned away, skillfully and briskly turned to the lieutenant, whose rank, formally speaking, is actually below that of the first lieutenant, and to the elderly who had accompanied the lieutenant, slammed his heels again, shouted loudly and surely, "Comrades, attention!" and saluted in a military manner so accurate that at that moment no one had any doubts that someone here must have "sufficient practical experience." Involuntarily, as if they had received an electric shock, all those present jumped to a standstill, even the mingy first lieutenant. Who, realizing his mistake, embarrassedly tried to conceal the movement, which made him look even sillier. The so honored lieutenant grinned.

The elderly was the only one who did not seem to have any problems with the situation. He made a brisk turn toward the Private, shouldered the rifle in parade style, and saluted back with a straight face. An awkward silence fell, but only for a brief moment. Then Schmitti also turned emphatically accurate, although not as perfect as the elderly in the direction of Bodan, also slammed his heels loudly and raised his hand likewise. Immediately the other fellow students followed. The lieutenant seemed to be thinking. Finally, he too raised his hand to his cap and saluted in the direction of the Private.

"What is your name, Comrade Private?" he asked.