The gunfire has long since fallen silent, most of the scars that once marred the field of battle have healed, and the physical signs of the past conflict were but a memory. Yet if one were to listen closely to the restless breeze whispering across this hallowed land, you might hear the voices of the past. The cries of anger and terror fading to the final whimper of a dying soldier as they came face to face with that which awaits all of us in our final moments.
The names of the battlefields might change as well as the means of conflict, but one thing will always remain. The dying. Be it from sword or arrow, bomb or bullet, death moves among the combatants gathering up the fallen. Where they will march for eternity in lock step with death as the world of the living honors their sacrifice.
Stories of ghostly encounters near old battlefields are as old as the nature of war itself. On the plains of Marathon, north of Athens, Athenian soldiers repelled the Persians in 490 B.C. Afterwards visitors to the battlefield talked of hearing the whistle of spears and the screams of dying soldiers.
British history is filled with similar stories. Three battles from the civil war of 1642 have been reportedly seen by visitors, the engagements at Naseby, Marston Moor, and Edgehill. Two world wars have also left their mark upon the landscape from Dieppe to Burma.
The U.S has its fair share of stories with most centered on the ghostly apparitions that inhabit the civil war battlefields of Gettysburg, and Antietam just to name two.
I experienced an encounter in West German in the mid-seventies. It was my first trip out of the country, courtesy of Uncle Sam, and we were in the field on maneuvers. I had been assigned to a listening post for two hours. It was punishment because me and my tank commander, a west pointer who was always trying to bully people, had been locking horns ever since he’d been assigned to the tank. I had been bullied growing up, so I had very little patience for people of that nature, no matter their rank.
It had only been a little more than 32 years since the guns of WWII had fallen silent, and in many parts of the country there remained small reminders of the past conflict. Most notably were the abandoned structures still riddled with bullet holes.
We weren’t near any towns, or even farms. The night was clear with a full moon and as I waited to be relieved I caught the sound of movement to my right front. I focused my attention on where the sound was coming from but could see nothing. It sounded like several people sneaking up on our position, and it was obvious from the sound of their movement they were soldiers. An armed force moving through the night, no matter how quiet they think they are, will still make small sounds. A rifle sling rattling softly, pants catching on the weeds, footsteps moving as quietly as possible. When you’ve done it enough you recognize these sounds.
There were no infantry units nearby, and as per our rules of engagement everything in front of us was considered hostile. I was about to call it in when whoever it was started speaking quietly, in German. Like they were giving orders or bitching about their situation. I only knew enough German to get into trouble. I looked again at where the voices were coming from, but there was nothing there. The weeds in the field were only about a foot high and not very dense so it’s unlikely they were hiding.
They continued to get closer, their footsteps growing louder, that guttural voice whispering orders. They were no more than five feet away from me, but nothing moved where the voices were coming from. I couldn’t see a damned thing, but I could hear them as clear as a bell. It was then I took a chance and turned on my flashlight. I was supposed to call in any movement, but for some reason this didn’t sound right. There was something off about the way the person was speaking so I hesitated on calling this in. I’d heard a number of stories about strange occurrences that happened to others in the field.
I searched everywhere but saw nothing. If it had been an opposing force patrol sneaking up on our position, the moment I turned on my flashlight they would have come after me. As it was whoever had been there simply vanished. My relief showed up, and I returned to the tank to get reamed out by my TC for turning on my flashlight. I didn’t tell him what happened. It wasn’t until later that I started to piece together what I might have witnessed. I believe what I heard that night was a lost German patrol that paid the ultimate price but were still continuing their mission.
Sounds farfetched, and some might question what kind of drugs I had been playing with at the time. But I was stone cold sober, and I know what I heard. I believe it was just one of the little events that put me onto the path I now follow.
In the coming weeks and months, I plan to explore the stories of hauntings from the world’s battlefields, from ancient times to the present day. If you have any personal experience I’d love to hear about them too, please share your story in the comment below. Thank you.
Richard Schiver 