January 1944

Ludwig shivered in his bed. The curtains pertched on the window floated against the wind. The clock showed 4:37 AM. Groaning, Ludwig sat up. He pulled the covers off of him and rubbed his eyes. He walked to the window, and pushed it closed. Why anyone in their right mind would open a window in the winter at night, was beyond him. For some reason, he spent time looking out the window. Snow fell gently from the sky, landing on street lights and building. An automobile drove up the driveway of the boarding house, and a man wearing a uniform got out. Ludwig watched him walk up the porch, and walk away. The truck let out a sputter and a cloud of smoke, and drove off. Ludwig glanced back at Gilbert in the bed, sound asleep. He contemplated whether or not he should go back to bed, or find out what that man left.

He chose the latter. Ludwig stepped softly to the door, pulling it open with a slow creak. He carefully made his way down the stairs, and pried the heavy door open. The cold night wind blew on his face, letting some snowflakes fall on his face. He picked up two letters in the mailbox, labeled "Major G. Beilschmidt" and "Captain L. Beilschmidt" from the army. Ludwig opened his immediately.

Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt,

Please plan to return to the 305th Infantry on the Western Frontline, to Normandy, France. You are expected to arrive on 25 January, 1944 at 0800 hours.

Friedrich-Wilhelm Hauck

Ludwig closed the note slowly. He slumped against a nearby pole. Why do they want him back? He looked at Gilbert's letter. Despite the overwhelming curiousity, Ludwig decied to wait until Gilbert woke up. He walked quietly back up the stairs to the small room. When he got to the door, he realized Gilbert was not in his bed. Gilbert reappeared from the bathroom. "Hey." He whispered, scratching under his shirt. "Hi," responded Ludwig, awkwardly. "This came for you," Ludwig handed the letter to Gilbert. Gilbert took it and looked at it. with a confused look. He ripped the glue and pulled the letter out.

Major Gilbert Beilschmidt,

You have been transferred to the 305th Infantry on the Wesern Frontline. Please meet them at Normandy, France. You are expected to arrive on 25 January, 1944 at 0800 hours.

General Friedrich-Wilhelm Hauck

"No way..." Gilbert whispered under his breah. "Ludwig, I finally get to fight! And I'm in your division!" Gilberrt grinned at Ludwig. As much as Ludwig wanted to return the smile, he was worried for Gilbert. War is a dangerous place, after all. As if he could read Ludwig's mind, Gilbert sighed. "Don't worry about me, little brother. I know how to fight." Gilbert looked at the letter again. "January 25, huh? That's only a week away," He muttered. Ludwig suddenly remembered. "Happy birthday, Gilbert." He said with a small smile. "God, please don't remind me," Gilbert laughed quietly. "I'm getting so old," Ludwig shook his head. "You're only 25,"

"26, my dear brother."

"Still, that's not old."

Gilbert laughed to himself. "I guess. It's just that... in this war, I can never tell which birthday is my last. Could be this one," Ludwig shivered. "Please don't talk like that. Ever." It was something Ludwig himself thought about, but it wasn't exactly something he wanted to think about. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll live until I'm 103." Gilbert joked. Ludwig wished with all his heart that would be the case.

They arrived in Normandy exactly on time. Normandy was covered in German bases, soldiers, tanks, and submarines. Someone there expalined to the brothers that the Allies were planning an invasion on Normandy, so it was imparative the army get ready. Gilbert was tasked with training troops, much to his dismay, and Ludwig was in charge of patrolling every now and then. Ludwig promised Gilbert that he would get his chance to fight eventually, but Gilbert just grumbled and stormed back into his tent.

About ten feet from his tent, five or six men sat around a warm fire, watching the flame and huddled together. Ludwig wanted to be near that warmth, so he walked over to the ring. A radio was perched on a log nearby, playing American jazz. With a grunt, Ludwig sat on a wood bench and rubbed his hands on his arms. "Say what you will, but this music isn't all that bad," a soldier commened while sipping a steaming cup of coffee. The sand shifted under Ludwig's boots as he shuffled his feet together. "I like their cartoons," another one said, "like Mickey Mouse." The group laughed and nodded their heads in agreement. "I wish I could see one again." The man sat back against the bench he was perched on. Ludwig reached towards a pot in the fire, and poured himself a cup of coffee. The smell of black coffee filled his nose, and the heat warmed his hands. "I wish I could see a girl again," One man joked. The group laughed. "After all, girls go nuts for a man in uniform," As the group laughed, Ludwig stared into the fire. "I heard Beilschmidt got some action back in Berlin," Ludwig's head shot up, and glanced at them with wide eyes. "Right, Beilschmidt? You were kissing with some pretty girl," One man laughed and nudged him. Ludwig clearned his throat. "It wasn't like that." He mumbled. "What'd you do after?" A soldier asked him. "I left." Ludwig responded. After all, it was the truth. "Aw, that's no fun!"

"Yeah, c'mon Beilschmidt, what're you afraid of? You some kind of queer?" The group laughed. Ludwig's heart sank directly to his stomach. "No, I-" He quickly tried to defend himself. The men sat closer to him. "I bet you are a fruit," A man poked him. Ludwig shrunk back into himself, trying to keep his eyes on the fire. "What, are you? Huh?"

"I'm not-I don't-" He rubbed his hands togeher, anxiously. The group continued to laugh at him. "Do you sleeze around with men? I bet you like it," Ludwig felt like he was going to throw up. His stomach churned in embarressment and anxiety. One soldier sat in front of him, and made a fist with his right hand. He thrust it back and forth with his mouth open. Ludwig's lips curled in disgust. He lifted his shoulder to his ears, trying to protect himself. "Hey! Cut it out!" A voice came from behind the group. Gilbert stormed up to the fire and picked up Ludwig by his uniform collar. "I need to talk to my brother," Gilbert's firey red eyes glared at the group. He turned around, and led Ludwig back to his tent. Once safe inside, Gilbert sat down at his desk. "Fuckers." He muttered. Ludwig stood awkwardly in front of Gilbert. "Thanks, by the way." Ludwig whispered. Gilbert waved his hand. "Those guys are morons. Don't mind them too much, Lud." Gilbert sat back in his chair. "I hope they don't actually believe it. I don't know what would happen if-if they..." Ludwig trailed off. He slammed his fist into his thigh. "God... why am I like this?" He pointed his eyes at the ground. "Hey, Lud," Gilbert rose from his seat. "It's no one's fault, not even your own. Those guys are douches, and I don't think they took it seriously." Gilbert placed a pale hand on Ludwig's shoulder. "It's alright. You're not going anywhere."

June 1944

Five months passed and the Germans had an overwhelming amount of men and artillery. U-Boats and other submarines patrolled the coast line. Gilbert was confident in the strength of these men. Ludwig needed a cigarette. One morning, while Gilbert and Ludwig sat ina tent, a general came to them, saying the Allies are on their way. Gilbert instantly got up from his seat, grabbed his gun, and walked outside of the tent. Ludwig strapped his helmet on, and followed Gilbert onto the beach. They walked past traps set up, and perched themselves on a sandy hill, waiting. The boats came in groups. Hundreds of Allies jumped off these giant boats and into the water. Bullets whizzed past Ludwig's ear as everyone around him were shooting at the enemy. Grenades blew up around the sand, throwing some people around like rag dolls. The ground shook as explosions went off, as well as screams from both Axis and Allies. Gilbert got up, and ran down to the main part of the battle. Ludwig watched him, with wide eys, stumble in the sand, gripping his helmet to his head. Out of impulse, Ludwig shot out of his spot, and ran after Gilbert. As Ludwig took steps forward, a stab of agonizing pain ran thorugh his leg. His knees buckled as he cried out. Blood was already seeping through his uniform and spilling on the sand. Gilbert stopped in his tracks and turned to face Ludwig. "West!" He called out. He ran over to Ludwig. "Lud, Ludwig listen," he tried to say over Ludwig's cries of pain, "It's alright, we're... I'm here, you're okay, alright? Let me help you," Gilbert took Ludwig's arm and wrapped around his shoulder. Blood leaked down Ludwig's leg and into his boot as Gilbert lifted him off the ground. Ludwig screamed as pain shot in waves up his leg. "Hey! I need a doctor! Please!" Gilbert called out. He dragging Ludwig up and around the hill, where seaweed gathered in heavy nests. "You're okay, just..." Gilbert wiped tears from his eyes. "Here," Gilbert ripped off a piece of his uniform and pressed it to Ludwig's leg. Ludwig clenched his teeth in agony. Gunshots fired around them. Ludwig looked to Gilbert, but everything had gone quiet. All he heard was distant explosions, and ringing in his ears. Gilbert stared down at Ludwig, clearly saying something to him, but Ludwig couldn't read lips. Gilbert's head turned around quickly, as if somehing surprised him from behind. Gilbert got up from where he stood, and got in front of Ludwig in a defensive stance.

"Hey, look at those Krauts up there!" An American soldier gestured to two men in German uniforms, one crouching over the other. "Wonder what they're up to."

"James, leave them alone. We don't know what they're doing."

"Ah, quit nagging me, Jonesie. That's my point: we don't know what they're doing," The American James started up the hill to the two. A German soldier stood up, blocking the two American soldiers from another German. James called out to the man. "What are you doing?" He asked, almost with a smile. The german stepped forward agressivly and replied, "Zurücktreten! Zurücktreten du Schwein!" James turned to his comrade with a cocky grin. "Isn't this nice?" He turned back to the Germans. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Kraut." James trudged up the sand to the other man. "Get down, or we're going to have a problem." The German didn't budge. "So that's how it's going to be." James took out his gun and shot the German straight in the chest. With a jump, the German's eyes went wide, and he toppled to the ground. "NEIIIN! GILBERT!" A strangled voice came from behind the now dead German. The second German crawled to the body of his friend.

James snickered and turned to the other American. "James, what the hell!?" The man yelled. "C'mon, Alfred, what's the big deal? Who knows what those pigs were planning down there." Alfred pushed James aside. "He was trying to help this one! Can't you see this guy's injured?" He pointed at the blond German, who looked up at them with terrifyed, tear- stained eyes. "I'm taking him to a doctor," Alfred knelt by the German, and tried to pick him up. The German understood what was happening to him, but he started screaming. The man was sobbing and trying to reach to his dead comrade. Alfred was able to understand what the man was saying, and winced at the screams. "NEIN! NEIN! DAS IST MEIN BRUDER! MEIN BRUDER, BITTE!

Ludwig struggled against the American, but the pain in his leg was too great. He turned his head to Gilbert's body, crumpled in the sand. Blood leaked from his mouth, staining his perfectly white skin. His red eyes stared at nothing, lacking the life they once had. Ludwig shut his eyes to keep tears from falling. "No.. no."

The American led him to a medical base. Other American men screamed in agony, and nurses ran around with blood-stained dresses and cloths. Ludwig's eyes grew wider in fear as blood poured from a soldier's eyes. "Doctor, doctor, this man has been shot in the leg." The American man gestured with his head to Ludwig. "No, no, no, son. We don't take Germans." The doctor turned around and began walking over to his tools. "Please! He's badly hurt!" The man looked at Ludwig. "You speak English? Spreche die Englisch?" The man's dark blue eyes stared in urgency. Ludwig swallowed, and nodded slowly. "A bit." He replied. "See? He knows English! Please!" A nurse came up to the doctor, and the doctor said something to her and pointed at the pair. She ran up to them and said, "Come this way," The American took Ludwig again, and dragged him to a nearby cot. Blood covered the matress and around it. The American set him down on the matress, and nurse instructed him to lay down.

She tore some parts of the bloody uniform off that surrounded the wound. "I'm sorry I ran out of anesthetic," she told Ludwig. "Just bite down on this," She handed his a leather belt. The American held Ludwig's shoulders down as he gripped the belt between his teeth. She cut open Ludwig's skin with a knife, and dug around near the bone in his lower leg. Ludwig yelled out in pain, muffled by the belt. His body instantly tried to sit up, but the American held his body down. Blood poured down Ludwig's leg, and he tossed his head back as he screamed. The nurse dug around further with her tweezers before holding down Ludwig's leg, and pulling out a small bullet. "There," she breathed. She grabbed towels and cloths, and pressed them down on the wound to clean up the blood. "This is going to hurt," She grabbed a small metal bottle, and poured a liquid on the wound. It instantly stung and it felt like Ludwig's leg caught on fire. He screamed again and arched his back. His toes curled in his boots, and he tried to shake his leg. The nurse dabbed at the blood again, and packed on as much bandages as she could. Ludwig's breathing was still erratic, but he calmed down a little bit. "Okay, you need to stay here until that bleeding's gone," The nurse gathered her tools, and rushed off to help someone else.

The American let go of Ludwig's shoulders, and sat on the ground next to him. Ludwig spat out the belt, and tried to control his breathing. His teeth chattered as his body shook. "See? You're better now." The American said with a small smile. In attempt to keep Ludwig distracted, the American spoke to him. "What's your name?" He asked. "L-Ludwig..." Ludwig shuddered. He kept his eyes closed tight to bear the pain. "Where are you from?"

"Ich kommt- I come from Weimar." He said through clenched teeth. Honestly, he appreciated the American's efforts, but he was in too much pain to small talk. "My name is Alfred Jones. I'm from Brooklyn." Ludwig nodded his head, though it felt like it was going to split in half. "Look... I'm really sorry about... you know," Alfred cracked his knuckles and looked at Ludwig. He didn't respond. He opened his blue eyes and stared at the ceiling. His brother meant the world to him, and he was taken away in a split second. "So how'd you learn English?" Alfred asked. "In France... With army." Ludwig formed an answer in his best English. "I can not speak good," Alfred chuckled. "That's alright. I get it."

Alfred turned his head to the explosions ringing around them. "I'm really sorry, but I need to return to my men." Alfred got up. "I need to return to my men," Ludwig copied. Rolling off the cot, Ludwig tried to stand. "Oh no, you still need to stay here." Ludwig shook his head. "I need to return to my men." He pointed to the battlefield, then to his uniform. "I am German," Alfred nodded. "I see... Well Ludwig," he buckled his helmet. "I wish you luck," He shook Ludwig's hand before walking back onto the beach. Ludwig watched him go, then limped away from the tent.

He limped all the way up the sand hill, with grenades throwing sand into his eyes, and now coated in blood, sand, sweat, and sea water. He finally found the German tents, and he stumbled into a commuications tent. The men huddled around the telephone shot their heads up at Ludwig. "Captain Beilschmidt!" Ludwig took a step forward, before his world went black and he fell to the ground.

He woke up to a crystal blue sy, and wind in his hair. His leg was tightly bound with bandages, and he lay stiffly on a stretcher. His lips cracked as he tried to speak. "W-Where am I?" He said hoarsly. "On your way home. You've been discharged." Ludwig's throat burned with dehydration. "Home?" A man towered over Ludwig's body. "That's right. To Weimar." Ludwig turned his head to the side. Home. It's been so long, he'd wondered what happened between now and when he last saw it. "Captain Beilschmidt, I have to tell you..." The man cleared his throat. "Your brother is dead." Ludwig turned his tired eyes back to the man. "Yes, I know." He siad sadly. The man grabbed Ludwig's hand and opened his palm. "Here, this belongs to you." A metal object was placed in the center of his hand. Ludwig slowly raised his hand to his eyes, and looked at the metal tag in his hand.

Gilbert Johann Beilschmidt, 291st Infantry.

The words were carved into the tag. Ludwig clutched it his hand and brought it to his lips. "I'm so sorry, Gilbert." He whispered to himself. The stretcher was picked up, and loaded into a plane. He was on his way home, and Gilbert didn't follow him.