“For God’s sake, who do we have here.” 

A tall, scrawny boy who couldn’t be older than 17 was standing in front of them, looking petrified and trying not to make eye-contact with the band of 5 men sprawled in front of him.  

“This boy here is our new Fernsprecher,” muttered Sergeant Reinhard with an air of veiled optimism. “Fresh out of the academy.” 

“What’s your name boy? And what are you, 14?” growled the burly Hans while oiling his machine gun furiously. 

“Ul..Ulrich sir. And I’m 16 this spring.” 

“They just get younger and younger don’t they. Just bloody great. Well, you have a hell lot to live up to, Oli was the best telephonist we ever had. Could do things with a signal set that’ll impress the Fuhrer himself. You know what - we’re calling you Fernsprecher - nothing more, nothing less. No point remembering your name, you’ll be gone within the fortnight that I can tell you.” Hans gave a long, loving swipe along the barrel of his machine gun, stood up, and headed into the thick brush. A loud trickling sound followed soon after.

A silence fell upon the battle-hardened infantry squad. They studied Ulrich, from his damp, blonde hair to the signal set that was mounted on his back. The set looked battered and rusted at parts, with a dented headset that hung loosely by the side. It looked like a relic from the past war. 

“The Wehrmacht must be done for. All they can send us now is a timid young boy and a damn telephone from World War 1,” groaned Hugo. He had been through it all - from the glory of France to the Battle of the Bulge, and now, to the ignominious retreat back to Berlin. Hugo stood up with a sigh and walked towards his tent, followed shortly by the rest of the unit. 

“Don’t mind them. We’ve been on the retreat for weeks now, and their morale has been...absent since the debacle in Belgium. You’ll do fine lad, just listen to my orders and you’ll be fine.” Sergeant Reinhard gave a warm, comforting smile and patted him strongly on the shoulder. 

Ulrich nodded his head gingerly and followed the rest of the unit to the tents. While he instantly liked Sergeant Reinhard, he couldn’t help but feel that these few weeks were going to be his last. The very thought of it brought an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and it was threatening to make him spill whatever contents were in his bladder. 

Still, he had to stay strong. He was a  Fernsprecher, and his unit - nay, the Fuhrer - was counting on him.

---

“FERNSPRECHER! Get the bloody Luftwaffe, we need air support, NOW!” 

Ulrich was fumbling with his headset. His fingers were trembling badly as he tried to remember the right numbers to dial. He had quickly discovered that in the thick of battle, with shells exploding and relentless machine-gun fire in the air, a soldier tended to forget all the important things he was particularly trained to remember. This was instead replaced by an overbearing, oppressive fear that tended to paralyze one’s very soul. 

This was something that they didn’t teach at the academy, but Ulrich kept telling himself that it would get better. He had after all learnt that the Wehrmacht had the best equipment, training and doctrines in the war, while the Americans and British soldiers were nothing but weak, cowardly men that didn’t even know the right way to pull a trigger. Above all, the Wehrmacht was led by the Fuhrer himself, and the Fuhrer would almost certainly lead them to absolute victory. 

Yet Ulrich was beginning to understand why his unit had not a shred of optimism. They had been on the retreat for three weeks now, under a constant barrage of artillery fire and airstrikes. They could hear the tanks rolling in the distance, with decibel levels that could only mean that they were approaching in the hundreds. 

The unit was immensely tired. They could not stay at one place for longer than a day, as the Allies were moving at a speed that, in Hans’s words, made him “understand the true bloody meaning of Blitzkrieg.” 

Sergeant Reinhard was looking increasingly haggard, and Ulrich was sure he had aged a decade since the first time he saw him. Reinhard hardly slept, and when he did, he slept with his rifle close to his chest while muttering the words “the unit is my responsibility” in his sleep. 

Still, Sergeant Reinhard was good to the men, and especially to Ulrich. He never failed to check in on Ulrich at the end of every day, asking if there was something he didn’t understand or if there was anything about the day’s battles that brought a lesson to him as a young recruit. The rest of the unit would normally sneer collectively while this happened. 

It was during one of these moments when it first happened. 

Ulrich’s headset crackled faintly as Sergeant Reinhard was patiently explaining to him the multiple ways that a soldier could immobilize a Sherman tank. 

“Fernsprecher...Fernsprecher... are you there, over?” 

Ulrich instantly picked up his headset and placed it over his right ear. 

“The Wehrmacht... [crackle]...needs to make a strategic retreat. We will gather at Location 799 in the Alps to consolidate our forces before countering the Allies to the West... ” 

“Received, please verify rank and unit, over.” 

“This is the Fuhrer, Fernsprecher.” The voice in the headset sounded curt as if he didn’t believe that Ulrich had the audacity to question his rank and unit.

“Mein Fuhrer?” Ulrich’s heart was beating at an escalating rate. His brow started to sweat as panic spread through his body. “M..mein Fuhrer, I’m so sorry, I didn’t...but why... “ 

“Enough. There is no time. The Generals cannot be trusted. I am personally reaching out to all units to deliver this information. The Wehrmacht is my responsibility. You are my responsibility. Do your job and tell your commander.” 

With a crackle, the headset went silent. 

Ulrich looked up in horror at Sergeant Reinhard and blurted out “We need to move, we need to move now to Location 799!” 

Sergeant Reinhard, who had still been elaborating on the various methods to immobilize a Sherman tank before he was rudely interrupted by Ulrich, stared expressionlessly at him. 

“What are you talking about Ulrich. What’s Location 799?”

“The secret location - the Alps - we need to move there before the great counter! NOW!” Ulrich was close to screaming. 

“You are babbling Fernsprecher. What is Location 799, what are the coordinates, and who told you this?” 

“The Fuhrer himself, he’s personally reaching out to all units!” 

Sergeant Reinhard continued to gaze blankly at Ulrich. 

“Keep your damn voice down! Are you out of your bloody mind? We didn’t hear no nothing from the headset. All you were doing was listening to Sergeant - you didn’t even pick up the headset lad.” whispered Hans, who was now staring menacingly at Ulrich with his piercing green eyes.

“But I heard him, I talked to him, didn’t you hear... ?” 

“No Ulrich, none of us saw you pick up the headset to talk to anyone,” muttered Sergeant Reinhard slowly. 

Ulrich was stunned. This couldn’t be - he remembered everything with absolute clarity, down to the littlest details. He had felt the headset’s cold exterior rest on his right ear, and he recalled clearly the sharp, curt voice of the Fuhrer. 

Yet five grown men, five battle-hardened soldiers, thought otherwise. 

---

“How are you doing Ulrich?” Sergeant Reinhard sat down next to Ulrich, passing him his gold flask. 

“Drink it, you’ll feel much better. 30-year scotch ought to do the trick.” Reinhard was looking worryingly at Ulrich. After what happened, Ulrich had walked away confused, and he was now sitting on a rather smooth granite rock, staring up at the moon with a pensive look on his face. 

“It happens. The stresses of battle...they do things to soldiers. It’s your first two weeks - a relentless two weeks at that. I can’t believe it’s been easy for you.” 

Reminded of the stresses of the past two weeks, Sergeant Reinhard now grabbed the flask from Ulrich and took a swig himself.

“I swear. It felt so real. I’m still trying to believe the fact that I imagined it, but no matter how many times I try to convince myself...I just can’t shake away the feeling that it happened.”

“I understand. The mind is a powerful thing - it can warp your senses and shape your reality.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

Sergeant Reinhard looked up at the moon. It was shrouded by a ring of thick clouds, but it still managed to gleam brightly. The light shining on Reinhard’s face highlighted his soft facial features. 

“I had a son - not too much older than you. 1st Panzer Division. He was at Dunkirk before he was garrisoned in Belgium. An excellent soldier. Brave, intelligent and an all-rounder. You could throw him into any position and he’d do his duty well.” 

Reinhard paused. He fished out a silver case from this breast pocket, took out a cigarette, and lit it up. 

“Normandy - it took a toll on him. His commander said that my boy started hearing things, things that none of the other soldiers heard. There were these voices in his head you see, pleading for him to save them. Before long he would start screaming his head off, rattling off things like ‘We were supposed to save them!’ or ‘Don’t let them burn!’ The soldiers were scared - he was revealing their position and putting the unit in a vulnerable situation.” 

He took a long, hard drag on his cigarette. The smell of cloves was strangely comforting to Ulrich.

“So they did the only thing that made sense to them. They placed a handkerchief over his mouth and sliced his neck with his own bayonet.” 

Ulrich saw that Reinhard’s eyes were starting to glaze up. He was at a loss of what to do. 

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that.” 

“Don’t feel sorry for the dead. It means nothing to them. Feel sorry for the ones that are still going through this shit war. Trust me, we’re having it way worse than them.” 

“Remember Fernsprecher, reality might seem subjective, but the actions that stem from them are not.”

---

Over the next two days, Ulrich’s unit retreated a further fifty kilometres east. They were now in Germany, their homeland, but it felt no safer than the lands from which they had hastily withdrawn. 

Ulrich was, however, getting increasingly adept at his role. The shells, machine-gun fire and airstrikes didn’t affect him as much as before. He could dial with respectable speed and his voice no longer quivered as he barked into the headset. 

As his confidence grew, so did the rapport with his unit. They grew more receiving of him, sharing their food, cigarettes and alcohol freely. Hans had even said that they might be able to call him by his name after all. 

They were now camped in a small, abandoned village in the outskirts of Leverkusen. Sergeant Reinhard reminded them that this moment of respite would be brief. Tomorrow, they had to be on the move again. He wasn’t wrong. Every now and then, the eerie silence that hung around the village would be pierced by the boom of artillery shells in the distance. The enemy wasn’t far away.

Yet for now, they could rest, eat and drink around the small fire that they had made in an abandoned warehouse. Ulrich was munching on his rations quietly. He didn't feel like talking to anyone tonight.

Crackle 

“Fernsprecher, are you there, over?” 

Ulrich looked up from his rations. Hans, Reinhard, Hugo - none of them seemed to have heard it. 

“Fernsprecher, do you copy, over?” 

“Mein Fuhrer?”

“Is your unit en route to location 799? Our forces are growing in strength and we are consolidating our supplies. We need to account for your unit.” 

“Mein Fuhrer...I can’t...we can’t come over to your position.” 

There was a brief, but deafening silence. 

“They don’t trust you, don’t they.” drawled the Fuhrer. 

“My unit - they are good soldiers mein Fuhrer, but it seems that I’m the only one that can receive your message.” 

Crackle 

“Fernsprecher, I want you to find a place where they can’t hear us, and then I want you to listen well. Can you do that for me?” 

“Yes mein Fuhrer,” whispered Ulrich as he stood up and walked away from the fire. None of them seemed to notice. “I’m alone now mein Fuhrer.” 

“Good. You’ve done well Fernsprecher. Now listen carefully. The Wehrmacht is no longer the force that it once was. There are elements that have been compromised and people who can’t be trusted.” 

Crackle

“They will do what it takes to convince good men like you that the war is lost. They will tell you that you’re hearing things and that you’re mad - anything to make sure that our forces do not gather strength at Location 799.” 

“Why mein Fuhrer?” 

“Because they are weak men, cowards who want an end to this war. They hate this war so much that they are willing to bring the Wehrmacht to its knees and drag the brave, innocent people of Germany along with them. Cowards, all of them. There is no peace after what we’ve done, after what they’ve done. There is only bravery, strength and victory.” 

“My commander thinks that...he thinks that death is better than this war we’re going through mein Fuhrer.” 

“What do you think Fernsprecher?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Let me tell you what I think. I think that you are a good soldier, a capable soldier, and I think you are far from being a coward. You are not mad Fernsprecher. We have concentrated our supplies, the very best rifles, tanks, planes and artillery in the Wehrmacht in one location, ready for our final march to victory. I have personally seen to this. Now we just need good men like you.” 

Ulrich could hardly believe what he was hearing. Could the Fuhrer really be muttering these words to him? Was he really being chosen for this glorious task?

“Your unit is a lost cause, but you are not. I want you, and only you, to come to Location 799. Now note down these coordinates.” 

Ulrich feverishly scribbled down the coordinates that the Fuhrer shared with him. This was it. This was proof that it was true all this while. Location 799 was never a figment of his imagination, and he now had the coordinates to prove it. 

“Fernsprecher Ulrich, I command you to report for duty at Location 799.” 

“Yes mein Fuhrer!” 

“But before you leave, there is another duty that I need you to carry out. You do understand that the Wehrmacht doesn’t tolerate treason, do you not?” 

“Yes mein Fuhrer.”

“And you understand that, once you abandon your unit, they might track you down, kill you, and share the coordinates of Location 799 to our enemies?” 

“Yes mein Fuhrer.”

“Then I think you know what to do Fernsprecher. We cannot allow any of these cowardly actions to happen. Carry out your duty for the Wehrmacht and for Germany. Carry out this duty for your Fuhrer.” 

Crackle

“I want you to eliminate your unit. There is no space in Germany for spineless traitors.” 

Wordlessly, Ulrich placed his signal set down and walked back to where his unit was gathered around the fire. 

They were still gnawing down on their food, so engrossed in their conversations that they didn’t realise the tall, scrawny boy pick up the impeccably polished machine gun. 

Ulrich now pointed the machine gun at his unit. Hans, who had just turned his head after hearing the familiar sound of his gun being cocked, started to shout in disbelief for Ulrich to drop the weapon. 

But there was nothing they could do. Emphatically, Ulrich squeezed the trigger and a hail of bullets rained upon the four men camped around the fire. Ulrich, now in a frenzied state, squeezed the trigger hard and screamed “BETRAYERS. COWARDS. DIE, ALL OF YOU.” 

They didn’t stand a chance. Four bodies now lay limp in front of him. A sinister smile was slowly creeping upon Ulrich’s face.

“Ulrich...what in the world... what’s going on?” 

“You lied to me, Sergeant. All of you heard it but you made me think that I was mad, that I was hearing voices in my head. You even made up a story about your ‘son’ to convince me. How bloody convenient.” 

“Ulrich, I need you to calm down, and I need you to listen to me. I’m here to help you, I’ve always been and always will. I understand what you’re going through but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Ulrich had now pulled out a knife from the side of his boot, and he started walking towards Reinhard. 

“Ulrich, don’t listen to whatever your mind is telling you. It’s not real Ulrich. Please, listen to me.” 

Ulrich, now a few steps away from Reinhard, finally realized the pathetic excuse of a man that stood in front of him. Weak, traitorous and pathetic. 

“The Fuhrer himself has given me the coordinates to Location 799. He has commanded me to follow him as we lead Germany to victory. You are nothing but a traitor.” 

“Ulrich, no, you don’t understand.” 

It was too late. The knife had sunk deep into Reinhard’s stomach, and blood was spouting out from his gaping wound. Reinhard cried out in pain as he slipped into Ulrich and held on to him with his arms. 

Sergeant Reinhard looked up at Ulrich for one last time. He looked at every crevice of Ulrich’s face, memorising the soft features that defined it, before locking his gaze upon Ulrich’s now crazed eyes. 

"Ulrich…"

If only he could freeze time and space. After all, he needed to be sure that he could remember his son’s large, wistful grey eyes before he slipped into the afterlife. 

He needed to remember what this war had taken from him.

Crackle.

“Good Fernsprecher, good," sounded a voice from the headset as Reinhard's lifeless body slumped onto the ground.

With the sinister smile carved permanently into his face, the Fernsprecher picked up his equipment and headed triumphantly towards Location 799.

THE END