Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Dangerous Territory	By : Rhov Category: +. to F > Attack on Titan /Shingeki No Kyojin Views: 4227 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own “Shingeki no Kyojin” and do not make money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 67
- 68
- 69
Chapter 68
Letters from Maizières-lès-Metz

Rappelle-toi, lorsque les destinées
M’auront de toi pour jamais séparé,
Quand le chagrin, l’exil et les années
Auront flétri ce coeur désespéré ;
Songe à mon triste amour, songe à l’adieu suprême !
L’absence ni le temps ne sont rien quand on aime.
Tant que mon coeur battra,
Toujours il te dira
Rappelle-toi.

Remind yourself, when destinies
Will have me separate from you forever,
When grief, exile and years
Will have withered this desperate heart;
Think of my sad love, think of the supreme farewell!
Absence or time are nothing when you love.
As long as my heart beats
He will always tell you
Remind yourself.
— Alfred de Musset
…

The fighting south around Feste Kronprinz, or Fort Driant as the Americans called it, went on for days, but the bunkers held against air strikes and tanks alike. After nonstop gunfire and bombing, General Patton had to pull back, the first time the famed American general actually retreated.
Armin spent the last days of September and early October pouring over maps, trying to guess the general’s next move. Eren swore that Armin needed to be working with General der Panzertruppe Otto von Knobelsdorff, not explaining things to a few infantrymen sitting around a makeshift kitchen in a warzone.
“Patton is used to a frontal attack. That failed, but he already sent troops to the north in Diedenhofen. Their 5th Division is in the south, and the 95th Infantry Division is in the west. They could loop around, surround us, cut us off…”
One of the new soldiers to their platoon, Jurgen, groaned as he threw a ball into the air and caught it while reclined on the floor. “And we’re all gonna die. We know that.”
Moblit scolded with unconvincing optimism, “Don’t talk like that, Soldat Jurgen.”
Another young soldier named Ivan grumbled, “Maybe I can get wounded and sent home. That would be okay.”
A blond soldat named Dieter laughed in fatalistic agreement as he played a solitary card game. “A scar to make me look like a hero to all the girls. Sounds good to me. Not too ugly, though. Maybe a scar over the eyebrow. My uncle had one from the last war.”
Franz was busy at a crate he had turned into a desk so he could write a letter. Connie peeked over his shoulder to read it and scoffed.
“Are you going to tell your wife about all the whores you slept with in Metz? Maybe I should write to her. ‘Dear cuckolded wife of Franz, my name is Connie Springer, and boy, do I have a story for you. It all started with a prostitute in Paris named Adélaïde.’”
Franz turned on him with a scathing sneer. “Keep out of this!”
“Leave him alone,” Eren said with a weary sigh, also working on a letter. “You should write to your mother, Connie. Send her a nice letter.”
Franz snickered, “Yeah, make her think you aren’t an asshole.”
Connie bristled and yelled, “Hey!”
Moblit rolled his eyes; it would not be the first time tense nerves led to a brawl. "Men, save it for the Americans."
Before the two could break into a fight, Thomas stepped out of the room they had turned into a kitchen. “Hot soup, whenever you’re ready. It’s the best thing on a cold day like this.”
Floch leaped up and ran into the kitchen shouting, “Mutti Thomas to the rescue!”
Eren paused in his letter, stretched, and gazed out at the dying trees outside. At least it had stopped raining, but with no cloud cover, the temperatures had dropped until it almost felt like it could snow.
He whispered, “I bet it’s going to be a horrible winter.”
Moblit had a passive smile for him. “That’s two months away. Hopefully the battle will be over before then.”
Jurgen pessimistically said, “We probably aren’t going to live long enough to see it snow.”
“I plan to,” Eren said assuredly. “I have too much to live for now.”
Franz perked up from his letter. “Do you mean your wife?”
In his mind, Eren was picturing Levi and that tiny, enigmatic smile of his, but he knew he could not say anything about that. He forced up a smile. “Of course. Louise hasn’t been to my hometown yet. I’d like to take her to Cuxhaven, settle down, and enjoy the rest of my life.”
“And start a family?” asked Moblit.
Eren held back from rolling his eyes. “Yes, of course. A big family. Five, maybe six children.”
Nack Tierce chuckled. “Why stop there? I read that if you have seven sons, Adolf Hitler himself will be the seventh son’s godfather. That’s my goal.”
Dieter walked by and teased, “You’ll end up with a wife so ugly, Hitler will take one look and declare her a subhuman cow.”
“Hey! I’d obviously marry a wife worthy of Hitler’s approval, with wide hips so she can give me seven sons as soon as possible.”
Eren glanced down at the gold band on his finger. “It’s good to think about the future.”
Moblit patted Eren on the shoulder. “You’ll make it, sir. After all, you have the Devil’s luck.”
Now, Eren really did roll his eyes. “That again?”
“Eat!” Thomas insisted. “Join us, Herr Oberleutnant. Or is that not allowed anymore?”
Eren gave a shrug and walked toward the kitchen. “Socialism means we work as a team, a community, a family, none more or less worthy than the other. Until an officer higher ranked than me says otherwise, if I want to eat with my brothers and comrades-in-arms, I’m going to!”
Thomas smiled proudly as Eren walked by and clasped him on the shoulder. “To comrades!”
The platoon cheered as Eren joined them like he used to, sitting at a long table. He removed his officer’s cap so he was the same as the rest of them, their commander but also their friend. Thomas served out bowls of soup, while the platoon laughed and told dirty jokes.
“Thomas, this soup is amazing!” a tall and stout Stabsgefreiter named Jarnach declared, stunned by the savory taste.
Thomas beamed with a proud smile. “I’m so happy you enjoy it. I wrote the recipe down for my mother back in Berlin. With any luck, people back home are eating this same soup right now. Imagine that!” he said with a laugh.
Armin looked at the bowl analytically. “What is that unique flavor?”
“Very French, yeah? It’s a special blend of herbs. This is why I’m so picky about bringing all of my herbs. Back when we were in Paris, while all of you were drinking wine and hiring whores, I was touring the city, eating at world-famous restaurants and talking with the chefs. My dream is to bring this unique French taste back with me. One day, I’ll take over my parents’ restaurant, and when I do, I want to serve meals from all the places I’ve visited: Italian noodles and sauces, French pastries and bisques, Polish sernik and sour cucumber soup. After the war, I plan to travel to all the lands Germany has conquered, learn their flavors, and bring those back home.”
“That’s an ambitious goal,” Moblit praised.
Thomas turned over to Armin. “You and your grandfather will have to come by again and try some of my food.”
Floch’s mouth dropped. “Armin, are you and Thomas childhood friends? This is the first time I’ve heard of it.”
“Oh, no,” Thomas laughed. “We’re both from Berlin, but different parts of the city.”
Armin explained, “We didn’t get to know one another until we ended up in the same platoon. When Thomas once mentioned his family’s restaurant, I recognized it. My family ate there a few times. It was really popular. I heard that even Adolf Hitler once ate there.”
“He did!” Thomas shouted, puffing his chest out. “I helped to make the bread he ate.”
“What, really?” everyone shouted. “Did you actually meet him?”
“Well, no, but I saw him,” Thomas modestly confessed. “I was a small child, I wasn’t allowed into the dining rooms, but I watched from afar. He wasn’t Chancellor yet, but my father admired him even back then. All I really remember is that Hitler was adamant that no meat be used, not even animal fat to grease the pans. After the meal, he praised my father and gave him a whole set of copper pots as a gift. My father still uses those pots.”
Floch looked enamored. “Imagine, eating a meal made in a pot gifted by Hitler. Sitting in the same chair as Hitler. I want to eat there now.”
“So do I,” Nack said with a bright smile. “If my father knew this story, he would definitely take the whole family on a trip to Berlin.”
“You’re all welcome to come,” Thomas said, grinning to the entire platoon. “It would be nice to have a reunion after the war. A large party to commemorate our victory!”
Jurgen mumbled to himself, “If any of us are left.”
Franz gulped down some of the bisque soup. “You’ll have to make a trip to Czechoslovakia. My dear Hannah can show you some great recipes from the Sudetenland.”
Thomas looked excited already. “I’d love to visit you and your wife!”
Connie snorted a laugh. “Are you sure you want someone from the platoon visiting you, Franz? He might let slip about all the prostitutes you’ve hired.”
Franz shot him a glare. “Only you would.”
Thomas added, “I would love to meet the lieutenant as well on the North Sea. I bet there’s a lot of unique seafood recipes.”
Eren swallowed some soup. “There are, but I don’t know any specific local recipes. My mother isn’t alive, otherwise she would have made quite a feast for you.”
“Perhaps your wife will learn. Imagine, a little French wife using her culinary skills to make German seafood! I bet it would be delicious.”
Eren laughed awkwardly. “I haven’t even gotten to try her home cooking yet. Maybe it’s terrible.”
“Impossible. She’s French!”
Eren pointed out, “That’s like thinking all Germans are good at engineering by birthright.”
Dieter laughed, “No, but Aryans are good fighters because of our racial superiority.”
Franz lifted his glass. “Cheers to that!”
Most in the platoon cheered, except for Eren who flinched, and Armin who looked uncomfortable by that line of thinking.
They talked some more about home, food, and family. Eren had almost forgotten how much he missed this. He had been holed up in his hotel room for weeks, either injured, stuck with bad weather, or desperate to have more time with Levi. He had forgotten the joy of simple camaraderie, being with fellow Germans, all around his own age, the sense of being a team, a platoon, friends, Kampfkameraden.
The men broke out into a song, and all around the town hall, Eren heard the tune getting picked up by German soldiers.
* * *
Voran, es gilt den Feind zu schlagen.
Voran, die Wege wir uns bahnen.
Sturmgeschütze rollen
In Feindesland hinein.
Vorwärts, denn wir wollen
Deutschlands Hüter sein.
Wir von der Sturmartillerie,
Wir sind der Geist der neuen Zeit.
Wir von der Sturmartillerie,
Stehen zum Kampf stets bereit.
Mit donnernden Motoren
Zieh’n wir jetzt in den Krieg.
Zum Kampf sind wir geboren
Und unser ist der Sieg!
Zum Kampf sind wir geboren
Und unser ist der Sieg!
Voran, es steht die Welt in Flammen.
Voran, wir schlagen sie zusammen.
Lug und Trug vergehen,
Denn hart ist unser Stahl!
Siegesfahnen wehen
Wieder überall!
Wir von der Sturmartillerie,
Wir sind der Geist der neuen Zeit.
Wir von der Sturmartillerie,
Stehen zum Kampf stets bereit.
Mit donnernden Motoren
Zieh’n wir jetzt in den Krieg.
Zum Kampf sind wir geboren
Und unser ist der Sieg!
Zum Kampf sind wir geboren
Und unser ist der Sieg!
#
Go ahead, the enemy must be defeated.
Go ahead, we’ll pave our way.
Assault guns roll
Into enemy territory.
Forward, because we want
To be Germany’s guardian.
We of the assault artillery,
We are the spirit of the new time.
We of the assault artillery,
Always ready to fight.
With thundering engines
Let’s go to war now.
We are born to fight
And ours is victory!
We are born to fight
And ours is victory!
Go ahead, the world is on fire.
Go ahead, we’ll beat them up.
Lies and deceit pass away,
Because our steel is hard!
Victory flags fly
Again everywhere!
We of the assault artillery,
We are the spirit of the new time.
We of the assault artillery,
Always ready to fight.
With thundering engines
Let’s go to war now.
We are born to fight
And ours is victory!
We are born to fight
And ours is victory!
* * *

     28 September 1944
     To my dearest, most cherished love of my life,
I’m writing this letter in German because, regretfully, it’s the only language I know how to spell. Hopefully you can get it translated.
We arrived at Machern-bei-Metz yesterday. I suppose it’s average for an industrial town: slag piles, factories, a layer of grime covering everything. You would hate the filth.
We had a chance to walk through the town, get a lay of the land, before reporting to the town hall. That will likely be our headquarters and where I will spend most of my days. It’s a decent enough building, with thick concrete walls and many rooms for storing supplies. Thomas already took over a spot to set up a little kitchen, and Armin is able to have his own radio room.
It’s nice to spend more time with my men, sleeping as a unit again. However, I already miss our warm bed and the softness of your body lying next to mine. I miss gazing upon you in the light of the rising sun and the gleam of your body curled up on my bed sheets. Such fantasies torture me at night. I know we didn’t have much time to actually be together, but when you were with me, my life had meaning. I was happiest with you. Now, my heart aches, and my fingers remember too vividly the softness of your skin and the feel of your…
I’m so sorry, Louise. I should stop this line of thought before I drift into something profane. Those are not words someone like you should see.
I hope you are safe on your family’s farm. If you can tell my friend in Metz that I am safe, I would appreciate it, but if not, I fully understand.
I don’t know how to properly end a letter meant for my wife, so I’ll simply say…
     Your husband,
     Eren Jäger
* * *
     2 October 1944
     Dear sweet, thoughtful wife, Louise,
I got your letter today. Thank you for writing back to me. It’s good to hear from you. I’m surprised the message actually made it to your farm, and more than a little distraught that those profane words reached your eyes.
As for your question about where Machern-bei-Metz is located, Armin told me that the French call the city Maz Maizar Maizières-lès-Metz. Forgive the messy penmanship; Armin had to keep spelling it out for me. Hopefully I got those accents correct. It’s north of Metz, on the road to Luxembourg City.
I deeply apologize for my last letter. I feel so ashamed. For a moment, I forgot who would be reading it. My last letter felt like it was meant for someone else, full of things a delicate flower like you should not read. Please forgive such a crude, sinful man. I will refrain from speaking to you like that again.
My men give you their regards. I’ve been encouraging them to write letters to their families back home as well. It helps to keep their spirits up in this grim, filthy town.
After a few days of heavy rain that made the gray sludge of this industrial city turn into quicksilver puddles in the pock-marked streets, the skies have cleared, bringing an intense chill. As I write this, I’m looking up at the glorious full moon. For a while, we feared that this break in the weather might include an air raid, and while we can sometimes hear airplanes overhead, my guess is that the Americans are too focused on the forts to bother us right now.
That could change at any moment. We must not let down our guard.
I need to leave. Captain Woermann has called for yet another meeting. Please say hello to your parents and that charming grandfather of yours.
     Your soldier of victory,
     Eren Jäger
* * *
     3 October 1944
     Hello again, Louise,
The letter I wrote yesterday is still sitting on my desk, and here I am writing another. Hopefully both letters reach you safely.
I just wanted to let you know that, at last, the Americans have arrived. I began to think they ran out of petrol again, but I guess we’re not that lucky. They’ve taken a slag pile to the northwest of the town, but they have not made a move since then. We are not letting them sleep at night, at least. I almost forgot the smell of heavy artillery fire.
Many of my men are untested in a real battle. Only about half of them were with me in Anzio, so for some, this is a new experience. This can be greeted with excitement or with terror, and I’ve had to deal with both since this morning.
Dieter, Jurgen, and Ivan panicked as soon as they heard all the gunfire, but I set them up with Luke Cis, an experienced man who has been with me since Italy. I plan to also have Moblit, Armin, Connie, Thomas, Nack, Lauda, and Jarnach look after all of the new recruits. Those men have been with me since Anzio. By working under experienced fighters, hopefully my men will stay alive.
They will calm down with time. The excitement of battle is something that fades rather quickly, and the terror becomes numb with every ear-splitting gunshot.
I heard that we will be getting reinforcements from Metz tomorrow, although I’ve learned never to expect such promises. Still, it’s good to know we were not forgotten after being sent here. After all, this location is vital to victory.
I pray that you are safe. Now, I must go. Duty calls.
     Yours, wishing you health and peace,
     Eren Jäger
* * *
     6 October 1944
     My brave and enduring wife,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your last letter about your parents getting sick worried me. I hope they feel better soon. The fact that you’re taking care of them shows what sort of strong and kind woman you are. Keep up the faith! I find it best to smile and be optimistic when times are tough. I aim to be a beacon of hope that shines for others, no matter how dark the issue really is.
Trying to maintain that sort of optimism in order to keep up the spirits of my men is sometimes the hardest part of being an officer, especially when faith and courage are put under fire, like it was yesterday.
We had our first casualty. Obergefreiter Nack Tierce was a good soldier who has been with me since I first took command of this platoon, a man with a level head, a kind heart, and dreams of a huge family. The Americans took that away from him. He fought bravely and shall be honored.
For a few hours, I feared we might end up overpowered by these cavalier Americans. They seem to have no regard for their own life, charging ahead as if they’re invincible. However, the 73rd Regiment of the 19th Volksgrenadier Division arrived, crushing their advance, and hopefully a bit of their indomitable spirit. It was a glorious battle to behold, and it encouraged my men to fight on.
I’m not sure if you’ve heard the news, but as I write this, half my men are drunk and celebrating. Yesterday, the famed General George Patton was forced to retreat from Feste Kronprinz. The fort withstood all of the American firepower like it was made of pure diamond. We need to keep him pushed back and force them to waste their ammunition. It’s a game of which side depletes the other’s supplies the quickest, and we have more experience than them.
These Americans are nothing more than uneducated cowboys fresh off their farms and lazy city brats who grew fat from greasy food. They are no match for our highly-trained German soldiers.
Many in my platoon cheer for your good health, and I pray you are enjoying your time with your family, far away from danger. If possible, it would be nice to get another letter from you. Your stories about life on the farm help to take me away from this place. I hope you don’t mind, but I read some parts to my men. Their faces brighten with smiles to hear you talking about the fields and animals.
Please don’t think they’re silly stories. Far from it! Your letters are a cup of fresh water to a man in a desert. You’ve become our platoon’s very own guardian angel.
Now, I really must leave. The men are drunk and I think a fight just broke out. Connie and Franz are at it again!
     Please keep us in your prayers.
     Eren Jäger
* * *
     9 October 1944
     My dear personal angel,
God surely listens to the prayers of a heavenly creature like you, because I am still alive, victorious after a fierce day of fighting.
We lost two men in my platoon, good soldiers with families who should be proud of their sacrifice for the Fatherland. We’ve all pulled back and have taken up shelter in the town hall. This place was already built like a fortress, with thick concrete walls. We have reinforced it with sandbags and surrounded the area with land mines to stop the enemy. Unless they bomb us from the air, they will not break through.
So fear not! These concrete walls protect me. Still, perhaps you can spare an extra prayer for me and my men at night.
Once again, I’ve been urging them to send letters to all of their loved ones. Not because I think this will end in defeat. Hail victory!!! Instead, it will keep their resolve to fight firm, remembering WHY we fight. I know from writing to you, there’s a gentle peace that comes with thinking about someone waiting for me.
I’ve been passing the time by working with Armin, who is learning English in order to listen in to enemy radio chatter. I help him to translate, and he helps me with my accent. Americans pronounce words so strangely, like “yep” instead of “yes.” If I can master an American accent, perhaps we can send false messages and confuse the enemy.
My apologies for the brevity of this letter, but I have a slight injury to my hand. Nothing to fret over, Armin saw to it right away, but it makes holding a pen or a gun painful.
Please continue to pray, and surely the angels shall protect us.
     Your warrior and husband,
     Eren Jäger
* * *
     15 October 1944
     My dear, ever-patient wife,
How many weeks has it been since I last saw you? How many days since my last letter? I should write more, but I often fall asleep as soon as the artillery falls silent. Sometimes, that’s only a few hours a night, and then even in my dreams I can hear their guns raining bullets on our position.
The Americans are keeping me up yet again tonight. I can’t close my eyes for five minutes without hearing their rifles. So I hope to escape by thinking of you, out there on your farm, tending to the animals. I wish I could be there, or anywhere else, really.
I apologize for my lack of letters, and I hope you were not worried for my safety. Getting mail in and out is not easy. The Americans keep firing on our supply lines. We’ve begun to draw lots on who has to make the trip to the southern slag pile to pick up supplies and send letters. Each trip is a suicide mission, but the men must eat.
I feel like the enemy is merely toying with us. It was Armin who first noticed that every few days, the Americans change tactics. Not just how they attack, but many small details only a man as brilliant as Armin could pick up. According to him, it’s like each platoon leader is acting independently. This could not merely be an utter lack of organization, since there is strict order to the chaos. (Armin explains it better than I can.)
Armin believes General Patton is experimenting with tactics, and we are the guinea pigs. After all, Patton has no experience in urban warfare, nor do any of his commanders. The Americans landed on these shores untested, barely trained, especially compared to the British who have been fighting us for five years.
A few days ago, the Americans tried to send in tanks, and we easily destroyed them. Massive tanks and narrow streets don’t mix! Now, they’re getting smarter at how warfare in a city works. They are like apes: stupid, uncivilized, but still fierce and able to learn basic concepts.
Day by day, block by block, house by house, every day they take more and more ground. Heaven help us when these infant infantrymen learn how to fight like real men.
I think writing to you helped to calm my heart. I will try to sleep at least a little more, and I will try to write to you again when I can. If it takes a while, I apologize in advance.
     Yours, determined and steadfast,
     Eren Jäger
* * *
     20 October 1944
     My dear wife, Louise,
Please forgive any blood on this paper. I found the cleanest one in the building.
I wish I had better news, something pleasant to write about. However, the days have not been kind. Earlier today, those audacious Americans rolled a heavy gun mounted on a tank right up to the town hall and fired shells large enough to punch holes through the solid concrete walls. By a sheer miracle, my platoon had been sent to patrol the riverbank that morning, so they were not there when it happened.
I was not so lucky. I was in an officer’s meeting when that beast of a heavy gun rolled up. In the very first blast, we lost Leutnant Gunther Schultz. I had just been talking to him, and then suddenly—
It was like he vanished in a red mist. At least it was painless.
All of the platoons still in this building suffered. Hauptmann Woermann and Oberleutnant Ian Dietrich were injured in the blast and had to be sent back to Metz for surgery. Dietrich’s platoon lost Unteroffizier Darius Baer-Walbrunn, a brave and decorated soldier. Schultz’s platoon lost not only their commanding officer, but Stabsgefreiter Dieter Ness, one of the most experienced soldiers in the entire company, besides the captain himself. Therefore, in a strange twist of fate, I find myself in charge of the entire company, at least until the captain recovers and returns. It’s a challenge to get men to obey after they’ve lost so many comrades.
My head feels like something got jarred too hard. Armin says I may have a concussion, but there is no time to stop fighting, and trying to get back south to the hospital in Metz is almost more dangerous than staying here, considering how aggressively the Americans have been attacking our supply lines. They want to cut off our food and kill our wounded! So I’m staying here with my men, hoping your prayers are enough to keep me alive.
The sound of that heavy gun is still ringing in my ears, so loud that I can no longer hear the incessant volleys of gunfire to the north of this godforsaken town. Perhaps that will help me to sleep at night.
If you are sending me letters, they are being blocked somewhere along the supply line. Then again, getting mail in and out of this hellhole is nothing short of a miracle.
If you are not sending letters, that’s okay. Please don’t think you need to send me anything. I enjoy your letters—they give me something to smile about, a rare gift out here—but I don’t want you to think you must write to me. I’m sure even thinking about me has become painful for you, especially when we knew each other for such a short amount of time. I’m practically a stranger to you, and here I keep writing such dark messages from the front lines.
I can’t write to anyone else I love, though. Only you, a girl I married to help her out of a bad spot. Perhaps my continuing existence is nothing more than a reminder of bad memories. I am an enemy to your people, after all. Perhaps you even hate me.
I think I’ll end this here. I started this letter hoping it would clear my mind, but instead it’s giving me a headache. My ears hurt so badly, I can’t think. I apologize if I rambled for a moment there. Please ignore it. It’s impossible to stay positive in such a situation.
Give my regards to your family, and please, please stay safe.
     Yours, ringing ears and all,
     Eren Jäger
* * *
     28 October 1944
     Dear Louise,
I wrote you a letter days ago, but our courier was shot. I’ve not had time to sit and write another one until now.
Two days ago, the Americans breached town hall. We filled the hallways with our mattresses and set them on fire to force them back out. Thank goodness for my cigarette lighter!
To say this battle has been brutal would be an understatement. Of the thirty who rode out with me from Metz, we’ve lost twelve. Yesterday, we finally found Lauda. He had been missing for a week. Someone came across his body in one of the abandoned warehouses, charred and only recognizable by the Erkennungsmark around his neck. There’s evidence he had been tortured before the end.
I’m starting to hate these Americans as much as I despise the British. I guess it just took me time to see for myself what sort of men these cowboys are. Sadistic monsters! They don’t care for their own lives and don’t even honor our dead.
They toy with us and torture my men! I doubt they see us as humans. We’re nothing but animals in a lab experiment to them.
Well, this animal will bite!

* * *
“Herr Oberleutnant?”
Eren had just slammed his pen to emphasize the exclamation point, stabbing through the parchment paper. He paused, calmed himself, and asked without looking up, “What is it, Gefreiter?”
Floch stood behind him, stubble on his gaunt and dirty face. When was the last time any of them had showered? “A message from Unteroffizier Berner. He took a squad to the cast iron factory. Before they could reach it, they were ambushed. They’ve taken cover in some houses and are requesting backup.”
* * *

I must go now. Those American devils are trying to kill half of what’s left of my platoon. It’s back into the fire for me, but this time I’m bringing flames of my own.
     Yours, fighting through the ravages of Hell,
     Eren Jäger

* * *
Eren blew on the letter to make sure the ink dried, folded it, and shoved it into an envelop. “I heard you were picked to go pick up supplies.”
Floch frowned. “Unlucky, I guess.”
“Just drive fast, keep low, and stay safe. I already sent Connie out to give you cover from above.”
Floch smiled wearily. “Good ol’ Connie and his sniper rifle. I wonder if he even keeps count of his kills anymore.”
Eren handed the envelop over. “I doubt anyone does after this long. Please make sure this gets delivered.”
“Another letter to Frau Jäger?” He tucked the letter into his satchel. “I really do love to hear her letters. Thinking about horses, sheep, and her dog having puppies really helps me to remember, there’s still a normal world out there. A world without bullets and blood, and not even that far away. It feels like another world.”
“Yes,” Eren muttered, although he found it more isolating, getting letters from Louise about such mundane things but not knowing if Levi was safe. He could not ask Louise to check on Levi, as that could put her into danger. He just had to pray for the best. “Connie and Franz had letters too. Where did I put them?” He searched around the dim, dusty desk, probably once belonging to a city clerk, now banged up with concrete dust and a few bullet holes splintering the wood. “Are those two around? I don’t see their letters.”
“No, they went with Moblit.”
Eren paused and looked worried. “Damn. Well, the letters were on this desk. Maybe you can … oh wait, here!” He picked up a book, and under it he found the letters addressed to loved ones back home.
He paused, looking at the book. Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. When he first arrived in the little industrial town and unpacked his bags, he saw that Armin had packed this book away. This had been the first book Eren got for Levi. (Or more accurately, Surma bought the book for Eren to help him learn French, and Eren gave it to Levi.) Levi must have already finished the book, since he left it behind.
It became a source of comfort to Eren while he was in Maizières-lès-Metz. Picking it up, struggling through the French, sitting with Armin and learning some of the words, helped to reminded him of Levi, and those memories kept his hopes alive.
Eren handed the envelops to Floch. “Be safe getting to the slag pile.”
“Yes, sir. Bring Moblit and the rest back in.”
“I’ll do my duty to Germany and the Führer. Heil Hitler.”
Floch shot his arm out. “Heil Hitler!” Then he turned to leave on his supply run.
Eren pulled on his combat helmet, strapped it under his chin, and gave it a knock for good luck. Some of his men teased him about that strange little habit, something new recruits did, not officers. Still, he had seen helmets save men’s lives.
He walked around the town hall. The building was a concrete fortress, and after a month slowly taking over the northern part of Maizières-lès-Metz, the Americans were now pummeling the thick walls, determined to push the last Germans out.
As he marched through narrow hallways, men slouched on the floor nodded to him, too tired to stand or salute. A few were wrapping up recent wounds, while others tried to get some rest before the next artillery volley. There were scorch marks and blood stains all over the floor and walls. Such macabre sights had become normal, and Eren walked through a hallway still black with the char of the mattresses they had burned to push the Americans out.
Finally, he came to a room with a radio sputtering out English and Armin slowly adjusting an antenna. Eren gave the opened door a knock.
“Armin,” he said, and the smaller man pulled off his headphones. “We’re heading out. Moblit is pinned down and needs backup.”
Armin set his headphones to the side and turned off his radio. “I can pick a team…”
“I’ll go myself. Two or three more, that’s all we need.”
“Are you sure you want to go?” Armin walked up to him and lowered his voice. “We already lost Gunther. We can’t afford to lose more officers.”
“And I can’t afford to lose my Unteroffizier. Pick one or two with experience under fire.”
“That’s everyone, by this point,” Armin muttered, “but the best choices are Jarnach, Connie, Thomas, or Luke. They were with us in Anzio.”
“Thomas and Jarnach are with Moblit, and Connie is laying down suppressive fire from above so Floch can get through to the supply lines. Luke will work.”
They both walked over to where Luke Cis sat with Dieter, Ivan, and Jurgen, all playing Quartett. They looked up from their cards and nodded politely to the first lieutenant.
“Herr Stabsgefreiter, we have a rescue mission and could use your help.”
Luke set his cards down and used his rifle to push himself up off the dusty, charred ground. “I’m always ready to serve the Reich.”
Dieter sprang up. “May I go too, sir?”
Eren looked hesitant. Dieter was one of those who panicked under fire at first. Then again, a month of shelling pounded those jitters out of all of them.
“Please, sir,” Dieter said again. “I want to prove myself.”
Ivan leaped to his feet as well. “Me too. I can bring my flamethrower.”
Jurgen also stood. “It would be shameful to stay here when our platoon needs us.”
Armin gave them a friendly smile. “How about you wait here in case there is another push from the Americans?”
“No! We can help,” Ivan insisted.
Jurgen nodded. “To clear our honor, sir. We know we were weak at first, but Luke has been a big help. We want to pay him back for his guidance.”
Eren turned to Luke. “I’ll let it be your call.”
Luke shrugged. “If they’re going to get killed, it’s better to die fighting to save others. There’s more honor in that, rather than sitting around here itching our asses.”
Eren gave a sharp nod and headed off. Ivan grabbed up a massive pack with a fire hose and fuel tank, and Dieter helped him to strap into the device. Armin eyed the flamethrower worriedly.
“How much fuel do you have in that thing?”
He gave an excited smile. “Enough to clear out a bunker and turn some of those Yanks into crispy fried chicken.”
Eren called back, “We’ll need it. Let’s go.”
The men marched through the town hall following Eren, whose eyes were cold as he led them to the massive doors that separated them from the blood-soaked battlefield of the urban streets.
# # #
# #
#
(NOTE: Images, videos, and links are on AO3. This website does not allow them.)
.
Rappelle-toi (Remind Yourself) – This is from an 1850 poem by French dramatist Alfred de Musset, one of the love letters he wrote to author George Sand. I was actually going to have Levi recite this as Eren walked away from the wine shop, since I established way back in Chapter 2 that Levi has memorized poetry. (After all, he remembers anything he reads.) However, it felt a little melodramatic, so I used it here.
Hitler himself will be the 7th son's godfather – I mentioned this fact before, but … yeah, that was an "incentive" for Aryan families to have many children. Your son gets Hitler as a godfather. Glückwünsche?
https://youtu.be/Y0Rx-EhkbDY
The song they sing is Marsch der Sturmartillerie (“March of the Assault Artillery”) written in 1941 by bandleader Edmund Kötscher with lyrics by Carl Alson. It’s definitely the sort of song German infantry soldiers would proudly sing.
Side Note: I’ve had to constantly replace links to videos of German military songs, even songs written in the 1800s, because people think since they’re German, they must be “Nazi songs,” and report them to YouTube. (You should have seen the near-RIOT my marching band caused when we played Alte Kameraden, one of the most popular marches in the world, written in 1889 by Carl Teike, but merely because it is a German march, people thought our band—75% of whom were Hispanic—were racist Nazis. Ooookay, Karen.) As someone who studied music history in college, I have strong opinions about the importance of music in our social history, good or bad, and music helps to bring a story firmly into reality. So, let me know if the video link breaks. Thanks.
image
(Maizières-lès-Metz refineries, before WWII)
Maizières-lès-Metz – The town was named after the Maizière noble family, who were forced to flee to Prussia after the French annexed the Duchy of Lorraine and began to slaughter Protestant Huguenots. (Side note: that’s how my family ended up in America, escaping France’s genocide of the Huguenots.) During the Nazi occupation, the town’s name was Germanized to Machern-bei-Metz, which is the name Eren uses.
Before the battle, it was a thriving industrial town with a population of 4,000 located 5 miles (10 km) northwest of Metz on the west bank of the Moselle. At the time, the town was known for smelting and refinery, with many slag piles. Both Americans and Germans used those slag piles for defenses. The main highway into northern Metz ran from Luxembourg City, south to Thionville, then down through Maizières-lès-Metz, so the Americans needed to secure that town in order to complete the pincer maneuver Patton had planned.
image
(The last surviving M-12, dubbed “Adolph’s Assassin,” on display at the U.S. Army Artillery Museum, Fort Sill, Oklahoma)
M-12 self-propelled 155 mm Gun Motor Carriage (AKA, “The Doorknocker”) – What happens when you want the massive punch of a Howitzer, but the mobility of a tank? You get The Doorknocker!
Only 100 of these were built, and only one still survives. (See above.) This massive gun was built onto a M3 Grant tank chassis, with some rearranging in order to fit ten artillery shells and a gunner crew. Because the recoil could push the whole tank backwards, a bulldozer blade was mounted to the back, meant to push into the dirt and absorb the recoil. “The Doorknocker” was used to punch holes into bunkers and fortresses, like the Maizières-lès-Metz town hall. (It also punched a hole through Gunther. RIP.)
It took a whole team to fire one of these, with a tank driver, a commander to give the driver directions, and a gunner crew. It took two men to prep the gun, one to put in the massive 155-mm shell, one to close the back of the gun up and secure it, a tech who calculated the angle of trajectory, and another who raised/lowered the gun via a crank based on the info from the tech, and then fired it. This was the sort of heavy artillery that usually fired from a kilometer away. The fact that the Americans had to drive this thing up to a mere 150 meters away from the town hall in order to punch a hole shows just how complicated urban warfare can be, and just how well-built that town hall was.
image
(M-12 “Doorknocker” firing across the Moselle toward Metz, with the bulldozer blade lowered in the back. This may be the same one that was used in Maizières-lès-Metz, I couldn’t confirm it.)
https://youtu.be/-X6_qpo0Xss
Rare film from WWII of a M-12 in action, northern France, July 1944.
Side note: Recently, U.S. President Biden approved sending M777 155-mm self-propelled guns to Ukraine to aid in their war against Russia. These can fire five rounds in one minute! Back in World War II, The Doorknocker took ten minutes to fire five rounds. War technology has really advanced.

image
(Maizières-lès-Metz in better times)

The Battle of Maizières-lès-Metz
The main highway into northern Metz ran from Thionville south through the industrial town of Maizières-lès-Metz. In order to roll in their tanks and march in their troops so Patton could complete his pincer maneuver, the Allies needed to secure this highway.
image
(Major General Raymond McLain)
As early as September 27th (the day Patton first attacked Fort Driant) Major General Raymond McLain of the 90th Infantry Division (the “Tough Hombres,” a bad batch division that McLain turned into “one of the most outstanding in the European Theater”) planned to use Colonel George B. Barth and his 357th Infantry Regiment to capture Maizières-lès-Metz, while the 358th and 359th Infantry assaulted Fort Jeanne d’Arc in order to secure the north flank of Metz.
image
(Members of the 357th Infantry Regiment)
At 0430 on October 3rd, the same date on which Patton launched the second assault on Fort Driant, Barth sent two companies of the 357th Infantry to make a surprise attack from the Bois de l’Abbé, west of Maizières-lès-Metz, and gained control of a long, high slag pile which overlooked the town from the northwest. Though under heavy artillery fire by the Germans, they held this bit of ground. However, Barth and McLain had to wait until Patton captured Fort Driant, in order to use it as a “flank anchor” and base of massive fire power.
That didn’t happen. On October 5th, Major General Leroy Irwin’s 5th Infantry Division was forced to break off their attack on Fort Driant. Two days later, General Irwin and General McLain made coordinated attacks on two fronts, south against Fort Driant and north against Maizières-lès-Metz.
image
(Logo of the 19th Volksgrenadier Division)
On both fronts, neither men made much progress. The fort would not crack, and the Germans sent the 73rd Grenadier Regiment of the 19th Volksgrenadier Division to Maizières-lès-Metz to stop the assault.
image
(Colonel Barth has his own march!)
Barth advised the division commander that two fresh battalions of infantry should be used, but McLain didn’t have the men to spare, since he was also busy with Fort Jeanne d’Arc. Meanwhile, determined to break Fort Driant, General Patton issued a new order to McLain, freezing the allotment of all artillery ammunition above 3-inch caliber. That effectively put an end to the idea of continuing a full-fledged assault on Maizières-lès-Metz.
By October 12th, Patton was forced to retreat from Fort Driant for a second time and rethink his strategy. Obviously, his cavalier “bust in through the front door” approach was a dismal failure in this situation.
Colonel Barth decided to use the lull to train his troops. He set up attack problems in which a platoon or squad took a house or two each day. Patton saw merit in this. He had a lot of new, untested men, and none of them had ever dealt with urban warfare.
image
(Maizières-lès-Metz, October 1944 — Two 90th Infantry Division soldiers armed with a Browning automatic rifle and M-1 Garand keep a lookout through a hole blasted in a concrete wall.)
Maizières-lès-Metz became a testing ground, going house to house, block to block, each day punctuated by sorties and artillery duels. During these grueling weeks, the sturdy stone houses of Maizières-lès-Metz formed a succession of miniature forts which the Americans had to reduce one by one.
The Americans carefully mapped the entire town, even down to watering troughs and laundry sheds. In the center was the heavy masonry of the town hall (Hôtel de Ville) which the Germans further fortified with sandbags, wires, land mines, and snipers, making it impervious to light anti-tank weapons. Barth gave each platoon a block of houses as an objective, each block carefully numbered on a map. Barth’s goal was to give each platoon commander experience, able to test out tactics, and the lessons the Americans learned would be used later by the whole Division, when they finally attacked Metz proper.
(So Armin was right about “strict order to the chaos.”)
For instance, they learned the hard way that tanks could not easily maneuver on narrow city streets. The Germans mowed those down with bazookas and anti-tank guns almost as soon as they arrived. The infantry resorted to demolition charges, flamethrowers, makeshift incendiaries (Molotov cocktails), and hand-to-hand combat, while field guns and tank destroyers fired constantly at the German supply route leading in from Metz.
On October 15th, General McLain was promoted to commander of the XIX Corps, and Major General James Van Fleet became commander of the 90th Infantry.
image
(General Van Fleet)
General van Fleet pushed Colonel Barth’s 357th Infantry Regiment to complete its mission and take the city before November 2nd. Colonel Barth made the town hall his new goal.
On October 20th, the Americans sent a M-12 self-propelled 155-mm Gun Motor Carriage (AKA, “The Doorknocker”) and ran it to within 150 meters of the town hall, slamming ten rounds into the building and punching massive holes into the concrete walls. The Germans retaliated with a bitter shelling and drove the Americans back.
image
(“The Doorknocker” helped General Patton to “bust in through the front door”)
By October 26th, Americans once again fought their way to town hall, this time reaching the lower floor of the building. The Germans stopped them by piling up their mattresses in the hallways and setting them on fire. They then drove the Americans out with flamethrowers.
The next day, four 10-man assault teams tried again. Three of the assault teams were checked by mines and barbed wire. The fourth crawled through a gap blasted in the wall by the Doorknocker and engaged in a hand-to-hand fight inside the building. All but one American was killed or wounded by the Germans.
And that leads us to where this chapter ends. More to continue!
image
(This famous photo of a German grenadier with his Panzerschreck (anti-tank rocket launcher) was taken on October 27, 1944, in Maizières-lès-Met, one day before this chapter happens.)
…
—
…
My heart goes out to the people of Ukraine, the thousands who have been killed, and over 3 million forced to flee as their cities are being destroyed in the largest ground war since World War II. Just as the Soviet Union was notorious for their war crimes against Germans in WWII (like the largest mass rape in human history) their descendants are showing the same dark side of warfare once again.
There have been reports of over 10,000 war crimes since the invasion began. Once again, they are using public mass rapes as a psychological weapon against the Ukrainians, as well as shooting unarmed civilians, bombing hospitals, and firing upon families trying to flee cities in the middle of a cease fire. Russian soldiers are already standing trial as evidence continues to pile up. Hopefully, all war crimes are prosecuted by the ICC.
Russian propaganda denies all such allegations despite ample videos and confessions from Russian POWs. Putin refuses to call it a "war" and arrests anyone who protests. A gamer friend of mine near Moscow managed to give us one last message to say goodbye and good game before being sent to prison for "talking too loud" in protest of the war.
Please, do all you can to help. Donate if you can, pray if you are into that, or spread the truth about what's happening to the Russians who are being cut off from basic internet services because their government fears what may happen if Russians learn the truth and take a firm stand against evil.
(Warning: links may be graphic.)
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russo-Ukrainian_War
- https://english.alarabiya.net/features/2018/03/11/PICTURES-The-largest-mass-rape-in-history
- https://www.axios.com/2022/05/05/ukraine-invasion-venediktova-russia-war-crimes
- https://www.wsj.com/video/watch-first-war-crime-trial-of-russian-soldier-starts-in-kyiv/3B3180E3-D2B3-4240-A8CE-4196BBCE4210.html
- https://metro.co.uk/2022/05/15/russian-soldiers-intentionally-using-rape-as-a-weapon-of-destruction-16619614
- https://reliefweb.int/report/ukraine/russian-bombings-hospitals-and-healthcare
- https://guyanasouthamerica.gy/news/2022/03/07/heartbreaking-photo-shows-ukrainian-family-dead-while-trying-to-flee-ukraine/
- https://www.forbes.com/advisor/personal-finance/donate-relief-to-ukraine/
My concert band is doing what little we can. We are having a concert this summer and plan to give all donations to Ukrainian relief aid. On our very first day back in indoor practices since Covid began, we made a recording of the Ukrainian State Anthem, Ще не вмерла України і слава, і воля (The glory and freedom of Ukraine has not yet perished). I then made that recording into a video with clips of the beauty of Ukraine and its people.
I was really honored to help in the creation of this video. Please give it a like!
https://youtu.be/qI_pTA4cARE
Remember, every little bit helps. Truly.
Love and peace to you all.
- 67
- 68
- 69
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Dangerous Territory