Battle of the Rhine

The Rhine does not belong to Germany alone.This broad river rises from among the mountains of Switzerland, winds its way through several countries, and finally empties into the North Sea.December is not a good season to visit the Rhine River. Michael was wrapped in a thick coat, and the north wind blew against the ground in gusts. Stratus clouds were low, and the turbid gray river water was choppy.

"I hate this river," murmured Quincy.

Early in the morning, Michael woke up with a start and rushed to the corridor to find Quincy standing in the kitchen, slowly holding a pot of milk.That pot was made out of a helmet.Quincy had been doing this job for a while when he first returned to Munich.Michael ran down the stairs to fetch the milk, and they sat at opposite ends of the table, eating breakfast in silence.

"Do you want to go out?" Quincy said suddenly, "You said yesterday that you want to go out today."

They leave the house at eight o'clock.The sun has not yet fully risen, and it is misty and wet everywhere.Quincy wore a scarf and handwritten it in his coat pocket.He went ahead and Michael followed.On Saturday, the street was unusually quiet. Occasionally, workers who worked overtime would ride past at speed, leaving ghostly clanking noises.

Michael had no idea where Quincy was going.He didn't ask, and Quincy didn't tell him.They took a ride to the station, and Quinnessy bought a ticket, and Michael said to the conductor, "Same as him." When he got the ticket, he recognized the town Mr. Franz had mentioned, which was Quincy. The one where West said, "a good brothel."

After the train left the city, soon, there was a large area of ​​wasteland outside the window, and further forward, mountains, rivers, and lakes.The train passed one station after another. Silent passengers got on and off, all wearing dark clothes, and no one took the initiative to chat.Quincy kept staring out the window, her hands curled into her knees, white against the black.

Near noon, they got out of the car.It was a small city, the size of a small town from Michael's point of view.They walked around the city and sat down to drink coffee.Of course, everyone paid their own money. Quincy even counted one Finney clearly. He didn't speak, just stared blankly.After drinking coffee and eating cake, they continued walking until they reached the steps. Michael held his breath, and a wide river appeared in front of him.

"The Rhine," Quincy said simply.

It was a mighty river, but Michael had never really reached the Rhine before.Between battles, he had imagined that after Hitler surrendered and the war was over, he would take off his clothes and jump into the Rhine for a good swim. "Little German" mockingly said that the river was filthy as hell, jumping in and drinking it might directly meet God.Michael didn't believe it. He thought it was a beautiful river just by the name. The clear and transparent water flowed slowly, passing through the mountains, the plains, and the city. Sailing slowly towards the sea.

"It's different from what I... imagined." The gloves were lying in Michael's pocket, and he was looking for the moment, "Well, I thought..."

"Pollution." The wind ruffled Quincy's hair. "Since a long time ago."

"Fortunately," Michael took two steps forward, "this is a very big river."

"In the spring, there's a lot of wildflowers here." The soil is bare and the low grass roots are withered, "carpeted all the way to the river bank...I like that time."

Michael hummed, imagining the Rhine River with wild flowers blooming on both sides.Although the river was close at hand, he still felt that the gray river should be transparent blue, like a huge blue crystal.He fought on the Rhine, years later, and he still vividly remembers the feeling of Thomson in his hand.The plane swooped down, almost skimming it, dropping its bombs.He saw that the experts invented a saying to calculate the amount of gunpowder dropped in square meters.How many bombs they dropped!However, the grass still tenaciously drilled out of the soil.He seemed to smell the moist soil in the spring of 1945, the light green ferns curled up, the yellow and white wildflowers were like stars, and there were a few thin daffodils...

"I hate the river," he heard Quincy whisper, "but it's good to die here."

Afterwards, they found a place to sit and chatted.No one, no ship, just the two of them in the sky and the earth.They talked about the puppets at Marienplatz, beer, mustard-flavored sausages, books, magazines, ink-printed charts, motorcycles, cars, tanks, "Did you order them to blow up the embankment?" Michael asked the question he'd always wanted to ask.

"Yes." Quincy crossed his arms. "It's just the dynamite left...but it's useless."

"It's not your fault." Michael said, "There are only a dozen or so of you left."

"So I considered myself lucky at the time," Quincy said. "A lot of people died, and the shells were like rain. There was nothing to eat, no potatoes. There were times when I thought I was going to die, and it was just a few meters away from me. place, people were blown to pieces...but I didn't die, I survived, I wasn't even seriously hurt. God bless me, right?"

"I didn't get hurt much," Michael said, remembering the notch in Big Girl's helmet. "People say I'm a lucky guy."

Quincy smiled faintly, "That's right."

"It was rumored at the time that we had to go to the Pacific Ocean." Michael touched his pocket, "Well, it's annoying, no one wants to go. Wars are so annoying...why are there wars? If there were no wars, the world would be too peaceful .Although it is annoying to go to work..." He grabbed the gloves, "but you won't lose your life when you go to work."

"If only there hadn't been a war," Quincy whispered.

"Yes, it would be better if there was no war." Michael agreed, his eyes sore inexplicably.If it hadn't been for the war, he would never have known Quincy in his life and would have never hurt him.He would be an empty-headed farmer in his hometown, at most counting the income from the warehouse. "The war has happened," he wiped his nose. "It's a good thing it's over...the war is over, Karl."

Quincy looked at the Rhine, her red lips trembling slightly.He lowered his eyes, "Well, it's over, it's over."

A bird flies across the sky, probably an eagle, a very large bird. "When are you leaving?" Quincy asked, "if—"

"Next week," said Michael at last. "Next Saturday, I suppose."

Quincy showed no surprise, "Back to America?"

"To Bonn first..." Michael described his itinerary. "Normal transfer," he added, "not because, not because—"

"In Bonn, you can easily see the Rhine." Quincy stood up. "You can see it often, and it will see you. Let's go, it's getting late."

So they went back to the station in silence, took a train, and arrived in Munich in the evening.Quincy was still staring out of the car window along the way, and Michael's gloves were not given away until the end.