Free Brothers Beyond Blood by Don Kafrissen Page B

going. While I stood before the gate, a truck pulled up and several men in black and white striped camp suits like I had worn were helped out. Their heads were shaved; they were gaunt and weak. They looked like I had, like scarecrows.
    Two civilian women rushed out and told the truck drivers where to take the men. A large, tent sat inside the gate to the right. It was obviously the medical clinic. There were large red crosses painted on the roof to discourage aircraft from bombing it, either Allied or German, though I doubt that there were many Luftwaffe airplanes still flying.
    As I started across the road, a motorcycle came roaring toward me. It sounded inordinately loud. A German soldier sat astride it, waving a grenade over his head. It was one of the can-shaped ones with a handle sticking out the bottom, a Model 24 Stielhandgranat e . I knew it was filled with steel and iron scrap. He was shouting something, but I could not make out what he was saying over the roar of the motor.
    The cycle hit me a glancing blow as I tried to avoid it, but I managed to deflect his arm and the grenade sailed over my head and rolled under an empty nearby truck. I covered my head and dropped to the pavement. I looked out of the corner of my eye, and saw the rider throw up his arms and fall backwards off the wildly swerving cycle. I thought I heard shots. Absently, I noted that it was a German military BMW R75 cycle, dark gray in color with white letters painted on the petrol tank.
    Just then, the grenade exploded. A great blast of hot air flipped me over and drove me backward. I saw the truck heave upward and then fall slowly onto its side, the canvas aflame and petrol spilling out. I knew it was about to explode. At the same time I was peppered by numerous particles. That was the last thing I remembered.
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 13 - Hans’ Story
     
    We heard the blast that came from the front gate and ran in that direction. I bumped into Karl on the way and he gasped, “What has happened?” We ran. “Is it an air strike?”
    “I do not know, Karl.” A glance at Heinrich only brought forth a shrug.
    Along the gate, several guards were facing us with rifles at the ready, nervously looking over their shoulders. About fifty of us crowded the fence, trying to see the street and what was happening. A cloud of smoke hovered above the street, partially obscuring a large truck lying on its side. Soldiers and civilians swarmed around a man laying in the street and, farther up to our left a motorcycle was smashed against a utility pole. I saw a German helmet still rocking in the dirt by the side of the road.
    Several more men ran up and loaded the fallen man onto a stretcher. I couldn’t see very well, but they were treating him as if he were still alive. I wondered what had happened.
    “Do you think it was a bomb in the truck?” asked Karl.
    “I do not believe so,” I replied. “It looks like something happened with a soldier of the Fatherland involved.” I looked around and called, “Does anyone here speak any English?”
    A boy stepped near me and said, “Yah, I speak some. I spent one year going to school in London.”
    “Gut. Ask one of the soldiers what has happened, bitte.” I grasped him by the arm and pulled him before me. He looked daunted as an older soldier shouted something at him, and he tried to pull back. I held onto his arm and urged him again, “Ask him.”
    “Please, sir, what took place here? Was someone killed?”
    The soldier poked the rifle at us and shouted, “Some Nazi son-of-a-bitch tried to blow up the DP camp. They got him though, shot him right off the goddamn cycle!” He grinned and poked again with the rifle, “You boys git on back there a ways.”
    My friend asked, “Was it the soldier they were carrying on the litter?”
    “Naw, it was some civilian who got knocked down by the cycle and probably got blowed up by the grenade. The guy ridin’ the cycle is dead. I saw them put a blanket