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Captain Waldteufel looked up the slope. He could hear horses whinnying. Suddenly about a dozen riders appeared, then a few more. “Damn,” he cursed. “If only the guns would fire.” “Fix bayonets,” he ordered. Fortunately no more riders appeared. At first Captain Waldteufel had decided to stand fast and meet the charge as best his men could. However, the horsemen seemed surprised when they saw his unit. Although they yelled incomprehensible insults, they began to retreat. Captain Waldteufel ordered a charge. It was unlikely that he would catch up, still he pressed on. “Forward men, forward,” he yelled.

  One of the horses appeared to be limping. Another rider dropped back to help his comrade. Captain Waldteufel hadn’t expected such luck. His men began to run and soon were almost on them, another few meters. Suddenly the riders charged off over the slope in the direction of their fleeing comrades.

  Captain Waldteufel shook his head in disbelief. His first sergeant, Karl Kluger, patted him on the shoulder. Again about a dozen riders appeared at the top of the slope. Captain Waldteufel turned around. He was not going to be led on any more wild goose chases. “Back to camp men,” he ordered. His men started to reform, getting ready to march in the opposite direction while Sergeant Kluger kept a wary eye. Suddenly Sergeant Kluger yelled, “Captain look.” “What next,” Captain Waldteufel wondered. He looked up the slope where Karl was pointing. More riders appeared, then more riders now flanking either side of the Germans.

  This was right out of a history book. It couldn’t be happening. Or more precisely, it was right out of professor Müller’s gymnasium history class. The feigned retreat, then counter attack in force by Mongol cavalry. At the military academy they had simply dismissed Genghis Khan’s tactics as simply massed hordes. “How stupid he thought.”

  Without fanfare, bugles, or shouts, the Mongols swept in from both sides. This only confused his men more. They had never encountered a totally silent enemy.

  They moved almost in slow motion, thick set men, the earflaps of their caps bounced in unison with the gallop of their horses as did the ends of their quilted greatcoats. Their swords glistered, reflecting the snow.

  Suddenly, there was war cry and they were on the Germans. “Hold your line, men, hold your line. Parry with your rifles. Bayonet the horses,” Captain Waldteufel shouted. Already the Mongols were cutting through his men while more swept into the German camp. Private Schlegel fell, stabbed through the chest, now lance corporeal Heinz, his left arm dangling. Slash, Sergeant Fritz’s head rolled off his shoulders. Captain Waldteufel thrust his rifle with bayonet at an oncoming horse, which reared up pawing in the air. Just then he felt blood spurting from his shoulder. While he had been distracted another rider had slashed him from behind. It has happened so quickly he hadn’t felt any pain. As Captain Waldteufel fell in the snow the horse galloped over him.

  By now the remaining the Mongols had passed through the forward company and on into the camp. Now in spite of the cold, Captain Waldteufel’s shoulder felt like it was on fire; he knew he would not last long. He hoped maybe some of his men were not seriously wounded, and at that least of them might be saved.

  Then he saw some of the Mongols whirl around, they were coming back. One of them a little taller than the rest signaled and they began to dismount… they kicked bodies in the snow for any sign of life. Some were stabbed repeatedly.

  No one bothered with Captain Waldteufel. They could see his wound was mortal. Captain Waldteufel tried to say the “Our Father” as he began to lose consciousness. He stopped. Was it wrong to die in despair? He knew he’d been outfoxed.

  One of the horses shat on Captain Waldteufel’s face, then another horse, then another. The Mongols began kicking bodies. One German who was feigning death was brought forwarded to Batu. “Do any of you speak German?” Batu asked his men. “I do,” Mongke answered. “Say as I say: Here is your leader covered in shit and blood. We are Mongols. Sons of the Blue Wolf. When we fight we win. Tell your commander to go back to Germany. Otherwise we and our Russians comrades will whip you like dogs.”

  Suddenly one of Batu’s men whipped the German across the face. “Remember well you dog German.”

  “Spike the weapons,” Batu ordered. “Hack open the bodies some more and let your horses shit on them. Chop some heads half in two. Finally seize their liquor.”

  “Now we leave this place of ghosts. With all respect brothers,” Batu said. “I do not think the Germans will retreat. No. But the Germans will see this battlefield and the remaining German will tell the tale of how it came to pass. And it will become exaggerated and more exaggerated.”

  “Batu. Truly you are our Khan,” the Mongols shouted.

  “Let us ride and drink,” Batu said. But still be cautious.”

  Bottles of German brandy were passed from horseman to horseman. The wind whipped up sounding like the morin khuur. Or was it a moan?

  About the author

  Erich von Neff is a San Francisco Longshoreman. He received his masters degree in philosophy from San Francisco State University and was a graduate research student at the University of Dundee Scotland.

  Erich von Neff is well known on the French avant-garde and mainstream literary scenes. He is a member of the Poètes Français ,La Société des Poètes et Artistes de France, Vice Chancelier de la Fédération Poétique de Saint-Venance Fortunat, and Membre d’honneur du Caveau Stéphanois.

  He has had the following publications in France (in French):

  Poems: 1162

  Short Stories: 152

  Small press 6

  Prix (Prizes) 22

  Erich von Neff's novel “Prostituées au bord de La Route” (Prostitutes by the Side of the Road) was published by “Cahiers de Nuit” (1999) with a grant from Centre Région des Lettres de Basse-Normandie.

  Erich von Neff's book of poems “Les Putains Cocaïnomanes” (The Cocaine Whores) was published by Cahiers du Nuit, 1998. “Les Putains Cocaïnomanes” was discussed on 96.2 FM, Paris, 1998 by Marie-Andre Balbastre, Poem # 45 was read.

  Several poems from “Les Putains Cocaïnomanes” were read at the Café Montmartre in Paris, 2010. Several poems from “Les Yeux qui faiblissent ont faim de la vigilance éternelle de la vérité” were read at the Café Au soleil de la Butte in Paris, 2014. Poems from “Un Cube chromé à l'intérieur d'une coquille d’œuf cassée” were read at the Café Au soleil de la butte in Paris 2014.

  A Trophée Victor Hugo was awarded to Erich von Neff’s novel “Une Lancia rouge dévale Lombard Street à tombeau ouvert” (The Red Lancia Roars Down Lombard Street), 1998. Several poems from my “Le Puttane della cocaina” (The Cocaine Whores) were read by Giulia Lombardo at the Caffe Litterario in Rome, Caffe Palatennis tavolo in Terni. Caffe degli artisti in Milan, Bookbar in Rome, Bibliocafe in Rome , and in five other Italian cafes in Italy, 2014. Several poems from my “Le Puttane della cocaina” were read by Giulia Lombardo at the Caffe Palatennis tavolo in Terni Italy in February 2015.

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