PARADOX - Chapter 27

Chapter 27 April 27, 2012 – Gaißach



Bones and Scout strolled along Dorfstrasse, enthralled by the massive and beautiful farmer’s home dominating the end of the street. The five-level home was a classic example of Bavarian architecture, with three tiered balconies decorated with intricately designed balusters and hanging flower boxes with a mixture of red, yellow and white flowers. A few streets over, the Gaissach church, a white church with a dark brown colored roof and unusual onion dome overshadowed its surroundings. The streets were immaculate as usual, no sign of litter, cigarette butts, or discarded paper. The Bavarians were the epitome of order and cleanliness in their surroundings. Everything had a place and everything was always in its place.

Monday and the rest of the Team spent much time in the little village, back in the day. Walking the streets now it was as if they had never left. Like thousands of American military personnel assigned to the area for duty or schooling, they fell in love with Bavaria, which would forever hold a special place in their hearts and memories.

They remembered the church from jogging past it so many times while doing physical training. Not that many had attended its services, but the church was the pivot point in their trip back to the Kaserne after a lengthy run across country and up mule hill. It was their final inspiration to finish that short leg to end their agonizing run.

Quietly they entered the church cemetery and walked among the silent graves. There was a treasure of history in the little cemetery, going back for many years. Many of the grave markers and headstones had photographs of the deceased for family and friends to remember the deceased by. There were a number of headstones picturing young men in Weirmacht uniform, young men cut down in the prime of their lives.

They found the grave of Claus Jäger a short distance into the yard. He was surrounded by several generations of deceased family members. They stared at the young face of the fallen hero for a few moments as a photo of him was proudly posted on his headstone showing him in his uniform wearing his Iron Cross. Bones and Scout both came to attention and saluted the brave young man’s image. He had been the enemy of their country at one time, but he was also a brother in arms who fought for his country’s cause when called upon to do so. They doubted he was one of the fanatical Nazis, few country boys had been. Most likely, he was a simple farm boy caught up in the patriotic zeal that swept Germany at that time.

As they left the cemetery, they noticed an elderly white haired man several graves over pulling weeds from around a well-manicured gravesite. The man stared at them for a few moments then removed his hat and bowed his head in genuine respect. He had obviously seen the two of them saluting the young warrior’s grave.

“Beer time.” Bones shuddered as they quietly exited the cemetery. “Graves give me the willies.”

“I could use a cold one too,” Scout replied. “A very big cold one.”

They quickly made their way to the small gasthaus they had been in dozens of times while stationed at the Kaserne. As they entered the front door, they noticed there were half a dozen occupants already in the cozy little pub. Three elderly men were drinking at the stomtish table, one was tending bar and heading to join the other three, and two obvious non-villagers were setting at a small table in the corner. The stomtish table was a table reserved for special guests and no one ever sat at it unless personally invited by the owner to do so. To occupy this table without permission was considered an insult to the gasthaus. Many American soldiers unaware of this custom learned it very quickly.

They took a seat facing the two men in the corner. “Sir des guten Nachmittages. Zwei große dunkle Biere gefallen.” Bones addressed the barkeeper, ordering two large dark beers.

The elderly man quickly brought them two heavy steins filled with dark beer, a billowing cap of foam on the tops. He looked at them with curiosity, as if he knew them, then shook his cotton crowned head. “We have been here many times in the past,” Bones answered his unasked question.” We were once stationed at the Kaserne. You are Herr Drechsler yes?”

“Yes,” the man replied. “Helmut Drechsler. You were with the Green Beret men or the Academy men, yes?”

“The greenie beanies.” Scout smiled. “Our team spent many nights here at the stomtish table. Our leader was Herr Stiehl, Monday Stiehl.”

“Now I remember,” Drechsler replied with a big grin. “Kapitän Montag, the man with the odd name. He was a very good and kind man. He is with you?”

“Monday is at the hotel.” Bones nodded. “I am certain he would like to see you again. He was rather fond of you and your family.”

“A good man. We grew fond of him also. There are two men in the corner, who were military men,” Drechsler continued, pointing at the corner table where the two strangers sat. “One is Herr Gabler, who said he worked with the Green Beret men at the Kaserne.”

They glanced at the two men sitting at the little table then raised their steins in salute. One man raised his beer stein in response while another fished in his pocket for something. Having found the object, he polished it on the sleeve of his shirt then stood and walked towards their table. He smiled at them then quickly dropped a large coin into Bone’s stein. They both recognized it immediately. It was a Special Forces coin issued to all who were assigned to the Group and, in special circumstances, to outsiders who had earned the respect of the Group. Many other Special Operations units, like the Army Rangers and Navy Seals, also had a similar tradition.

With a huge grin, Bones lifted his stein and drank the remaining beer, catching the coin in his teeth, as was required by ritual. He handed the coin back to the large man who signaled for his friend to join him.

“Lars Udo Gabler,” the man said, offering a beefy hand. “I was member of the Deutsche Gebirgstruppen. We with you worked on many occasions.” The German Mountain Troops were a special unit who trained in alpine warfare with the Special Forces and many had become very close friends.

“Claude Bedeau D’Aubigne,” the second man stated in a heavy French accent while also offering his hand. “I worked with the Forces Spéciales Françaises et Etrangeres, and although I did not work with your Group I have worked with other American Special Forces units in the past. Unfortunately, I do not have a special coin to drop into your beer.”

Both men were in their late twenties or early thirties and in prime condition. It was obvious they were still in the same special operations business but under different employers.

“Let me guess, Colonel Jean Marcel Dorbec.” Bones tipped his head to the side and smiled.

“Kapitän Monday Stiehl,” Lars replied, with a bigger smile.

“Doctor Stiehl now,” Scout corrected. “Now that we know who each other works for, we can keep off the subject. No need to mess up beer and friendship with opposing business interests.”

They all wholeheartedly agreed and ordered more beer.