(author name is horny_dad or lexxjld on some sites)
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I stumbled over a clod of earth left by some passing tractor. Somewhere behind me in the darkness most of my Unit were drinking themselves into insensibility -- not that I blamed them -- but my escapism took the form of needing to get away from them, as well as from the awful war. Mist lay heavily on the sodden fields, and strands crept across the road from time to time, disguising the potholes and making the dark road even more treacherous. I had no idea whether I was actually allowed out of camp, but the sentries were rather slack tonight, no doubt wishing they could join in the merriment too.
Somewhere far away the generals had organised this Christmas cease-fire, welcomed by everyone, but especially by the wretched soldiers out in the battlefields. Noise becomes part of life after a while, and the abrupt silence which began just before midnight on Christmas Eve made our ears ring with the memory of the noise. It was several hours before we all stopped shouting to make each other hear.
Failing the second year exam in electrical engineering at Birmingham University had left me in a kind of awkward limbo: neither officer material nor able easily to fit in with the other men. I had managed to keep myself inconspicuous during training. I did as I was told, not too willingly or too well, and avoided the sarcasm of the sergeant major. One thing that I had managed to keep secret so far was my ability to speak German. If it had been mentioned in the initial paperwork after I enlisted, it would probably have given me the chance of some desk job, but my degree course had given me a hearty dislike of sitting at a desk.
The mist cleared for a moment, showing the moon riding high in the sky. A narrow track met the road here and I had just gone past it when a sudden noise made me go cold with fear. Even in a cease-fire, German sentries might very well shoot at a lone English soldier out after dark. Of course, it might be another Englishman like myself, so I called out softly, "Who's there?"
A shadowy figure stepped out from between the trees, and in the moonlight I could see that it was a German soldier, apparently unarmed. Relief flooded through me that I wasn't about to be shot in the back, and I approached him cautiously.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in German. "You're a long way from your lines."
"An Englishman speaking German -- a rare animal indeed," said a soft voice without answering my question. He came nearer until we could see each other's faces, and continued, "I should ask you the same question, but I imagine that neither of us should really be here away from our lines."
He broke off and looked around, then said vehemently, "Thank God that terrible noise has stopped. I don't think I could stand much more of it. I came out here to get away from it all."
This echoed my feelings so exactly that a sudden need to confide in this stranger came over me. "I know how you feel," I nodded, "all those men around all the time, and the continuous noise and no privacy make it unbearable. When the guns stopped for the cease-fire last night I felt that I had to get away, and after the Christmas dinner tonight everybody else seemed content to get drunk, but the thought made me quite ill so I came out for a walk. Have you any idea what the time is?" My watch was not luminous, and the vapours had again covered the moon.
"It's half past two," he answered, evidently having a luminous watch. "Let's find somewhere a bit warmer than this to talk. There's a shed along this road, though it's probably full of turnips."
We wandered along the road in companionable silence, picking our way between the potholes in the fitful light shed by the moon through the swirling mist. I was beginning to think that there was no shed, that he was mistaken about the road, when he gripped my arm and muttered, "Over here."
Some way from the road was a delapidated barn with no door, and the moonlight through the doorway showed that it was indeed full of turnips, except right at the back where there was a pile of old straw, a bit damp and smelly, but certainly warmer than the chill night air outside. He took off his greatcoat and spread it on some thick straw.
"This is better," he remarked as he settled himself comfortably on one side of the coat. "If you put your coat over us we shall be fairly warm."
I saw the logic of this and spread my coat over us after sitting beside him. "My name is John," I said, leaning back against the wall of the barn and beginning to feel very sleepy. "What's your name?"
"Wolfgang, after the composer," he replied grinning. "My parents were very musical -- my brother is called Ludwig."
We laughed, and I was no longer surprised that he expected these names to mean something to me.
