It had become autumn. Like every year at this time, the battlegroup battalion ‘Friedrich Engels,’ to which my hundred-man squad belonged, blew for the year-end maneuver.
The operation began, as always, on Fridays with a night alarm. In my absence, fortunately, I did not have to worry about Chris and the little one, because my wife had become a caring mother.
After dressing and receiving weapons at the base, it was time to mount up for the motorized march with the entire battalion. In full gear, this is an ordeal for any fighter.
Thirty men squatted tightly in full gear on the squad car. Machine guns, steel helmets, spades, cartridge bags, gas masks and the rest of the stuff made any movement on the narrow, hard wooden benches impossible.
Finally, we stopped in a wooded area. Dismount and wait in the dawn, later lining up to receive orders. The combat mission was explained. Waiting again.
I received the order to reconnoiter the area ahead of us for possible radioactive, bacteriological, and chemical contamination with my NBC squad, which I had had to lead for two years.
My two men and I got into the oversized lead-gray protective suits with the boots welded on and closed the breastplate with snaps. We put on the gas masks and steel helmets. Finally, the hoods of the protective suits were put over the helmets.
With our hands in our elbow-length gloves, we grabbed the submachine guns, our equipment, and moved off. I could distinguish my two companions only by the Geiger counter and the chemical reaction box.
After a short time I heard the whistling of my breath and sweat was collecting in the mask, although it was autumnally cool with overcast skies. Sometimes, before the exercise, one of the command staff would hide a radioactive cube somewhere for us to track down.
When the Geiger counter began to creak, I, hooded as I was, had to make a rough sketch of the terrain and draw in the radioactive area. My men marked the dangerous place with colored flags.
After completing the task, we were decontaminated with water, and only then were we allowed to take off our protective clothing. Such superfluous, misanthropic, pointless mummery could only be dreamed up by insane idiots in air-conditioned laboratories.
Anyone who has stumbled through unfamiliar terrain in a protective suit for just fifteen minutes under a gas mask would wish for a quick, painless death in the event of a nuclear strike, so as not to have to drown in agony in his own sweat.
At some point, the attack began. A well-armed group of enemy saboteurs was to be rendered harmless. The fighters crawled forward. Violent banging with blanks and practice hand grenades. After an hour, the combat mission was accomplished, the firing ceased.
Gathering, cleaning weapons, then lining up to eat from the goulash canon. After the lunch break, the entire battalion lined up in a large clearing. The party secretary of the district and some officers of the People’s Police had observed the fighting.
The party secretary congratulated us on the successfully fulfilled combat mission. In his speech he emphasized that the battalion ‘Friedrich Engels’ with its combat experience might have to prove its readiness for action in the near future.
Hear, hear! Unfamiliar new sounds. After the triple salute, the party secretary and his companions drove home. The fighters stepped away, knotted their tarps, built tiny tents, and settled in for the night.
Guards were assigned. Everyone hoped it wouldn’t rain and the night wouldn’t be too cold. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
This is a supporter-funded publication. To receive new contributions and promote my work, become a subscriber: