Run. Run, his mind told him. Through the bloody field of men and foxholes. For a moment, a man appeared in front of him, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone—splattered, lifeless. Loud screeches filled the sky above, punctuated by thunderous explosions around him. A shell burst nearby, tossing dirt and debris into the air. Reinhard stumbled, narrowly avoiding another man who had fallen in front of him. Then one came too close. Everything went black.
Five years earlier…
The sun shone brightly over the quiet streets of his town, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside Reinhard Bäumer. He had turned nineteen just a few months ago, just before the war had begun—a man now, at last eligible to join the Imperial Army. Yet, instead of feeling excited, he felt hollow. The world around him seemed drained of joy. Schools had emptied, hospitals were short-staffed, and the laughter of children no longer echoed down the streets. The clamor of merchants and buyers in the town square had vanished, leaving only the faint whistle of the wind through empty alleyways. Life had become a shadow of its former self, and for Reinhard, everything felt pointless.
He had made his decision. Today, he would enlist.
The recruiting office was a small, brick building at the edge of the town square. Its walls were plastered with brightly colored posters, each one urging young men to serve their country. Reinhard scanned them: “Support the Fatherland!”, “Protect Home and Child! Report Soon to Arms!”, “Honor Awaits Those Who Serve!” The slogans were designed to inspire, yet to Reinhard, they stirred a mixture of doubt and longing. Was he enlisting because he admired his father, a hero of the Franco-Prussian War, or because he wanted to escape the suffocating monotony of his life? He wasn’t sure, but either reason would lead him through those doors.
Outside, the town seemed frozen in an uneasy silence. The cobblestones glinted under the sun, empty tavern tables sat undisturbed, and shutters hung closed over most windows. Reinhard noticed a small group of children staring at him from the corner of a street. Their faces were pale, their laughter absent. He looked away quickly, suddenly self-conscious, as though his decision somehow alienated him from the world he once knew.
Inside the recruiting office, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the deserted streets. Young men were everywhere, chattering about the branches they hoped to join—infantry, cavalry, artillery, or even the new experimental aeroplane divisions. The air smelled faintly of ink and sweat, the walls adorned with banners that depicted soldiers in heroic poses, bayonets raised and flags waving. Reinhard’s stomach twisted as he tried to decide what he wanted. He had never handled a rifle before; he had never even been far from his hometown alone. Yet here he was, on the brink of stepping into a world he barely understood.
Finally, he approached the recruiter, a stern man with a neatly trimmed mustache who barely looked up from his ledger.
“Name?”
“Reinhard—Reinhard Bäumer,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Age and birth date?”
“Nineteen, August 23, 1895.”
“Branch?” the recruiter asked, raising an eyebrow.
Reinhard hesitated. “Anything… just not the aeroplanes.”
The recruiter scribbled something on a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “Take this to the doctor next door. Medical testing. Next!”
The room for the medical exams was quieter, lined with wooden chairs against one wall. A woman sat behind a counter, marking papers diligently. She glanced at Reinhard as he approached, and he noted—without thinking—her foreign features. Rumors whispered among the townspeople often spoke of strangers being unwelcome, and yet she worked here without incident. He handed her the paper.
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“Take a seat,” she instructed, placing the sheet aside. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”
Reinhard sat down next to a young man who looked almost his age. Hesitant, he tried to make conversation.
“Hey,” the man said, a tentative smile on his face. “Why did you enlist?”
Reinhard considered lying, spinning a story about patriotism or ambition, but honesty—or at least a version of it—slipped out. “Because my father was a hero in the army. I… I wanted to be like him.” Though in truth, he only wanted distance from the family that pressured him so relentlessly.
The young man nodded, extending his hand. “Ernst Jünger. Yours?”
“Reinhard Bäumer,” he replied, shaking it.
“You thinking about which branch you’ll join? I’m leaning toward the aeroplanes—those flying machines sound incredible! But who knows? Not every branch has room.”
Reinhard smiled faintly. “I guess… the army on the ground will do for me.”
As they talked, Reinhard noticed the small details of the room: the faded posters urging courage and honor, the metallic scent of disinfectant, the ticking of a wall clock that sounded unnervingly loud. Each element reminded him that this was no longer his familiar world—he was stepping into something vast, regimented, and potentially terrifying.
The doctor finally called his name, and Reinhard rose, waving briefly to Ernst before stepping into the examination room. The room was small, the walls plain and white, with a single steel tray holding medical tools. A scale—just a ruler taped to the wall—stood ready. Reinhard straightened against it as the doctor muttered measurements and notes.
Hours passed in a haze of syringes, temperature checks, reflex tests, and endless questions about his family history and physical endurance. Reinhard tried to remain calm, but his thoughts wandered. What am I really getting into? Will I live to see another day if war comes for me? Every injection, every scribbled note, felt like a step further down a road he couldn’t turn back from.
By late afternoon, the doctor finally nodded. Reinhard had passed. He was officially enlisted, and his barracks assignment awaited him in the Swabian Jura, over two hundred miles away. To his relief, Ernst would be joining the same division. Relief washed over him—at least he would not be alone in the unknown.
Outside the medical office, Reinhard spotted Ernst leaning against the wall, studying a paper.
“You passed?” Ernst asked, a flicker of surprise in his voice.
“I did,” Reinhard said. “Which division did you join?”
“The 73rd Hanoverian Fusilier Regiment—also called the 19th Division.”
“Same here. Does that mean we’ll share a barracks?”
Ernst’s eyes widened, excitement spreading across his face. “That’s great! We can be war buddies! The bus leaves soon for Osnabrück, Hannover,” he added, squinting at his paper.
They lingered outside a few minutes, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. Reinhard noticed the long shadows stretching across the square, the air carrying the faint scent of dust and hay from nearby farms. The town had an almost unreal stillness now, as if it were holding its breath for what was about to happen.
Reinhard handed his papers to the bus driver, taking a seat at the back beside the window. Ernst joined him, settling in with a grin.
“Do you know how this war even started?” Reinhard asked quietly.
Ernst shrugged. “Pretty stupid, actually. From what I know, Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated by a Serbian nationalist. Austria declared war on Serbia; Russia backed Serbia, and Germany backed Austria. Then we declared war on Russia… and France, and—well, Britain might join soon. It’s all chaos, really.”
Reinhard nodded, staring out the window. The war felt absurd, a vast machinery set in motion over a single murder. The rolling fields and clusters of forests passed in a blur, and he thought of his home, the quiet streets, and the people he would leave behind.
He thought of his father, of the weight of the name he carried, and the invisible expectations pressing on him. The uniform waiting for him at the other end of this journey felt like a promise—and a threat—all at once.
Reinhard let himself sink back into the seat, letting the gentle rocking of the bus ease some of the tension. He listened to Ernst hum quietly, counting the rhythm of the wheels turning on the road. Around him, other recruits talked in low voices, some laughing nervously, others silent, lost in their own thoughts.
For the first time, Reinhard felt the weight and freedom of having chosen his own path. He did not know what the future held—but he would face it, step by step, with the small comfort of friendship beside him.
As the bus rolled steadily onward, Reinhard closed his eyes, surrendering to the quiet rhythm of the journey. Ahead lay uncertainty, danger, and perhaps glory—but for now, he simply let himself breathe, preparing in silence for whatever the next chapter of his life would demand.