World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, German
Six of us had in each of the five cases to execute the sentence, and
unfortunately I, too, belonged to those thirty men. The condemned man
whom my party of six had to shoot was a tall, lean man, about forty
years of age. He did not wince for a moment when they blindfolded him.
In a garden of a house nearby he was placed with his back against the
house, and after our captain had told us that it was our duty to aim
well so as to end the tragedy quickly, we took up our position six paces
from the condemned one. The sergeant commanding us had told us before to
shoot the condemned man through the chest. We then formed two lines, one
behind the other. The command was given to load and secure, and we
pushed five cartridges into the rifle. Then the command rang out, "Get
ready!" The first line knelt, the second stood up. We held our rifles in
such a position that the barrel pointed in front of us whilst the
butt-end rested somewhere near the hip. At the command, "Aim!" we slowly
brought our rifles into shooting position, grasped them firmly, pressed
the plate of the butt-end against the shoulder and, with our cheek on
the butt-end, we clung convulsively to the neck of the rifle. Our right
forefinger was on the trigger, the sergeant gave us about half a minute
for aiming before commanding, "Fire!"
Even to-day I cannot say whether our victim fell dead on the spot or
how many of the six bullets hit him. I ran about all day long like a
drunken man, and reproached myself most bitterly with having played the
executioner. For a long time I avoided speaking about it with
fellow-soldiers, for I felt guilty. And yet--what else could we soldiers
do but obey the order?
Already in the preceding night there had been encounters at Bertrix
between the German military and the population. Houses were burning in
every part of the town. In the market place there was a great heap of
guns and revolvers of all makes. At the clergyman's house they had found
a French machine-gun and ammunition, whereupon the clergyman and his
female cook had been arrested and, I suppose, placed immediately before
a court-martial.
Under those conditions we were very glad to get out of Bertrix again. We
marched on in the afternoon. After a march of some 3 miles we halted,
and received food from the field kitchen. But this time we felt no
appetite. The recollection of the incidents of the morning made all of
us feel so depressed that the meal turned out a real funeral repast.
Silently we set in motion again, and camped in the open in the evening,
as we were too tired to erect tents.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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