Now, on the open street, another powwow was held. Should we take the gun with our few men, or not? Our reserve group leader, that old mentor and sea dog Sab Sauermilch, advised against it with the words “children, quit it, it’s not possible without losses.” He was supported by the “85 man” Roß, who as an army lieutenant was the only “specialist” among us with regards to land warfare. As an infantryman, he described our plan as a “hopeless undertaking.”

The rest of us gave our support to our dear Tillessen. Fischer said simply, for example, a stubborn “we’re taking the cannon,” and so it was done. After this short intermezzo the shock troop was split into two halves, and the onward march was undertaken in the protection of the house façades and in quick tempo. In every doorway along the alley stood a group of questionable, shady, leering silhouettes. But none dared to move a muscle. Did these lowlifes overestimate our numbers, or were they simply cowards? In any event, we made our way down the street unmolested, negotiated the Zweigstraße at a run, and finally discovered the sought-after gun at the end of the Schommerstraße, its gun carriage bearing a rammer to which a red flag was affixed.

Tillessen, Sauermilch, and one or two others continued to the next cross-street, the Schillerstraße, while the rest of the group made the gun ready to sail under Fischer’s proven leadership. In the middle of the preparations we were disturbed by a crazy shooting. Tilly had barely made it to the Schillerstraße when, from a nearby house, a machine gun and about thirty men unexpectedly opened rapid fire upon us, which in its violence left nothing to be desired. Limestone sprayed, swathed in bursts of sparks, out of the bullet holes left by the mostly too-high shots. By quickly firing our Luger pistols, we imitated machine gun fire, thereby holding back a horde that was making to begin an attempt to storm our position.

The pistol firing did not fail at its task. The horde faltered, the enemy fire fell silent. During the proceedings, the cannon had been taken in the blink of an eye. Fischer was on the rear of the gun carriage as the helmsman. It’s unlikely that a cannon of this caliber was ever transported so quickly by five men as it was here. Running up the Schommerstraße, past the still entirely passive inhabitants, all the way to Stachus. Here, a short rest, and then back to pick up the rear guard; we met them on the way home. They had successfully provided backup for the cannon crew.

Now we passed the burning newspaper kiosk back to the Kunstakademie, where we arrived safe and sound after three-quarter’s of an hour march. As a reward we received well-earned cigars from our company leader, but one could nevertheless sense the pride in his words about the A+ results that the Tillessen Group and the entire Sturmkompanie had earned in their trial by fire.