Ypres, Belgium 1917
Dieter Weiss scanned the enemy lines from the concrete pillar box amid the German trenches around the Belgian village of Passchendaele. On top of the low rise hill he had a commanding view of the British and French in their dugouts.
Around this section of the Western Front Wiess fought for three months since being ordered there after the Somme. It had been a period of gain and loss for both sides.
The British had tried to advance on the German position in July only to be beaten back due to a high casualty rate and bad weather. The torrential rain had turned the shell scarred countryside into a muddy hell. Tanks and artillery had sunk into the ground. Duckboards had to be laid to allow troops to move around. Decaying dead bodies lay everywhere because it was far too risky to lift them for fear of being shot then drowning in the mud.
October had seen the arrival of the Canadians, and apprehension grew among the Germans, for the new arrivals were the most feared of the allied forces.
The allied push came on the twelfth when troops left the relative safety of their dugouts and slogged up the slopes toward the German lines. The machine guns opened, and the slaughter began again. Through grim determination and vast amounts of courage the allied troops, led by the Canadians, reached the German trenches.
Dieter Weiss reached for his field knife as the first of the enemy surged over the front of his trench. The knife felt good in his hand; it felt like it was full of menace.
The Canadian's rifles mysteriously jammed as they tried to shoot the trench bound Germans.
Then a swirling tornado passed in front of them and, to their horror, and the Germans, their insides fell out of massive slashes across their bellies.
The next wave of allied soldiers found themselves thrust back down the slope by some monumental unseen force. The German machine gunners took advantage by picking them off before they could recover.
A figure standing on a neighbouring hilltop drew his attention as Wiess stood over his handiwork. The hill was just behind German lines. Whoever he was, he wasn’t an enemy, or… was he? Weiss thought.
Within the bat of an eyelid David de Longford was standing right in front of Weiss–his eyes blazing red.
“You!” Weiss screamed.
“I’ve told you before Anatole these people are not your playthings.”
David flew backwards and crashed into a stunned soldier manning a machine gun. He picked himself up and dusted himself off, then walked toward Weiss. Suddenly he found he could move no further as if there was an invisible wall in front of him. David smiled and waved his hand, then walked.
“No... stay away,” squealed Weiss.
“I’ve seen enough, your part is over in this war.” David announced.
Dieter Weiss rose into the air, with flailing arms, and then shot away at blinding speed much to the amazement and horror of the on-looking Germans. When they turned to confront David; there was no one there.
On the seventh of November the allied troops took Passchendaele. Although the Germans still ringed the town, it was a major achievement–a victory at high cost.