—— Back on Reconnaissance ——155All around it was silent; all I could hear was muffled footsteps
in the distance – the sentry walking up and down the trench,
somewhere about twenty metres from the dugout. I was a little
startled and distracted by a suspicious rustle – somewhere to
the right and a long way behind me. But the rustling ceased and
I calmed down. Somehow it was not a threat to me – I realised this
from some special scout’s sense. I could not have left ‘traces’ of
myself and the Germans were apparently relaxed.
However, my attention was partly focussed in that direction;
would the rustling be repeated? No, nothing could be heard for
the moment. Now I was overcome by a nervous trembling. This
always happens in the face of any danger, after you have taken
a decision and the time has come to act on it. To act on your
own, when you are your own commanding officer and your own
subordinate, and the whole operation is in your hands, as well as
your own life.
But this was not from fear; no, it was not that kind of trembling!
It was from a feeling of arousal before a decisive thrust, real action.
I had devised a precise plan by which I would have to operate, a
plan calculated down to the last second.
It seemed that not even ten minutes had passed since the
Beanpole had left, but someone else came out of the dugout. He
remained standing for a little, stamped his feet, listened all around,
and clicked his cigarette lighter – he was having a smoke. Then he
called in both directions: ‘Wie heiss?’ – ‘How are things?’, in other
words. ‘Alles sehr gut!’ the sentry replied.
Well, I thought so too; so far everything was going very well.
I sensed that it was the occupant of the dugout who had
emerged. Seemingly, he was supposed to check the sentry posts,
and he was either being lazy or was afraid to go too far away. But
he should have done.. . !
Well, that was it! The moment seemed to have arrived. If he
doesn’t go farther now and returns to the dugout, he will have
to be taken out. ‘As long as there’s no noise,’ I remembered. The
Finnish knife was already in my hands, its blade concealed in the