Guns At Cassino (10 page)

Major
von Dodenburg got back into the cab and snapped at the elderly driver:

`All
right, Number Ten Prinz Albercht Strasse.'

The
driver gave him a quick look, a sudden light of fear in his tired eyes. He knew the address well enough. It was the home of the Third Reich's police apparatus, the headquarters of the Gestapo itself.

Well,
man, what are you waiting for?' von Dodenburg snapped, angry at the naked look of fear on the man's worn face. What had he to be afraid of? The Gestapo was there only to protect the law-abiding folk comrades, not to hound them, as many stupid people thought.

`Just
thinking where it is, sir,' the driver said hastily and slid behind the seat.

But
he did not even have time to wait for a tip after the cab had pulled up in front of the four-storey building, which had once housed an art academy, and was now the home of the Reich Main Security Office.

Himmler,
the Reichsführer SS, saw him almost at once. As usual the ex-chicken farmer who was now the most feared man in Europe was correct and exceedingly well informed. He accepted the flag, as if he had known all along that it was on its way, gave von Dodenburg a brief lecture on the inferiority of the Negro race, full of the anthropological jargon he had picked up in these last years, and then asked:

`Well,
my dear Major, what do you want for this?' He gave von Dodenburg a wintery smile, but his dark eyes did not light up behind the thick lenses of his pince-nez. 'I am sure that Colonel Geier would not dispense with such a useful officer as yourself to bring me a flag, eh?'

The
tall adjutants in their trim black uniforms, grouped behind the Reichsführer, allowed themselves a polite titter; it wasn't often that Himmler made an attempt at a joke. When he did, they knew he expected a reaction; and they obviously had no intention of being sent to the Russian front by a suddenly enraged Reichsführer.

`No
sir,' von Dodenburg said. 'Colonel Geier has a request to make through me.'

`And
it is?'

`The
new recoilless rifle. The Colonel believes that the SS Parachute Battalion is being equipped with it. He would like as many as possible for Wotan. They would be ideal for the kind of terrain we are defending in Italy.'

Himmler
frowned and looked down at the detailed list of the gold watches, teeth, wedding rings, etc., which had been 'collected' from the National Socialist concentration camps stretching now all over occupied Europe.

`He
would, would he? And why should the Parachute Battalion sacrifice its weapons to the Wotan, may I ask?'

Von
Dodenburg flushed, as the adjutants smiled at his discomfort. He wished suddenly he could get a few of them back with him in the battalion; he would show them what the war was really like. Especially the young captain to the left of Himmler’s chair, who was a magnificent physical specimen, just short of two metres in height.

`Because,
Reichsführer, our need is greater than that of the Para Battalion. Our position is the key to the whole Cassino front. If Peak 555 is taken, then Cassino must fall - and, Reichsführer, I don't need to tell you what that would mean,' he added grimly.

`I
take your point, Major,' Himmler said thoughtfully. 'I can understand your concern too, but my dear young man, you must not exaggerate the situation in Italy. In the Middle Ages, Germany's future was decided there once before because of our weakness and the damnable influence of the Catholic Church.

But
since then the time has changed. We have that damned black Pope and his Curia in our hands like that. And we are no longer weak. No, von Dodenburg, even when we are faced with half the world in coalition against us. Think back to the days of the Old Fritz.' (2)

Von
Dodenburg sighed and let the lecture descend upon him, full of historical allusions to previous centuries which had little or nothing to do with Germany's present perilous situation; but in the end, when von Dodenburg thought the Reichsführer would never stop, the Head of the SS broke off in mid-sentence and snapped:

`You
shall have the weapons, Major. Wagner,' he turned to the big captain, 'take care of the matter with the Major, will you.'

`Reichs
führer!' barked the captain at the top of his voice, as if he were back on the parade ground at Bad Toelz and not in the tight confines of Himmler's office.

Himmler
picked up his fountain pen again.

`Ensure,
Major von Dodenburg, that the recoilless rifles are used to the best advantage. We must prevent the barbarians ever reaching the sacred soil of the Reich. Mark that!'

`I
will, Reichsführer,' von Dodenburg barked, hardly able to believe that he had pulled it off after all. 'Thank you, Reichsführer. Heil Hitler!'

A
few moments later he was out in the dark corridor again, dwarfed by the bulk of the black-clad adjutant striding in silence towards the door. The guards clicked to attention and von Dodenburg handed his special pass back to the NCO in charge. It was only then that his escort spoke.

`Silly
old bastard, isn't he?' he said in a warm cultivated voice quite unlike the parade ground bellow he had just used in Himmler's office. 'Sometimes I feel like going up the wall when he runs off at the mouth like that about history. And in reality, he doesn't know his chicken farmer's arse from his knobbly elbow.'

Von
Dodenburg stopped and looked up at him in bewilderment.

`What
did you say, Captain?'

Wagner
steered him on gently but firmly.

`It
isn't wise to stand and talk in this building, Major,' he said. 'The front is a great deal safer than Number Ten Prinz Albrecht Strasse for those who disagree with our beloved Reichsführer SS. Believe you me, though,' he grinned impudently, 'I have so far had the good fortune not to be sent to that place, which they tell me is exceedingly uncouth.'

`Exceedingly,'
von Dodenburg said, flinging off the captain's hand. 'Now then, Wagner, what in devil's name is this all about?'

Wagner
glanced hastily up and down the long corridor, dark where the windows were boarded up as a result of the RAF bombing raids. The cynical smile was still on his lips, but there was no hiding the anxious look in his eyes.

`The
Vulture sent you here, Major, not only to collect a few artillery pieces, but also some information which is far more explosive than all the recoilless rifles in the Para Battalion's armoury.'

`And
what is that supposed to mean?' von Dodenburg snapped, growing angry. 'Can't you speak plain German, man?'

`If
I did, Major, my rather precious and somewhat handsome head would no longer be on these shoulders.' He raised his hand pleadingly. '
Pace
, all will be explained in due course. Please have patience. Group Leader Schellenberg will brief you.' `And where will I find the Group Leader?'

Wagner
dipped a hand in his pocket and pulled out a card. `Here.'

Von
Dodenburg stared down at the visiting card with the two words 'Salon Kitty' engraved upon it in a rather florid style.

"Salon
Kitty, what the devil's that?'

Wagner
grinned.

`Salon
Kitty,' he said casually, 'oh, that's our own private brothel, Major.'

Eight

Forage cap at the back of his neck, tunic ripped open, rucksack slung carelessly, his breath reeking of
Korn
, Schulze barged into the first queue of eager servicemen lining up for the whores' services.

`No
naked lights within fifteen metres,' he bellowed joyously, 'or we all go up in flames!'

`Sodding
SS,' a burly undersized Obermaat in the submarine service growled in a thick waterfront accent, 'take yer shitty turn like the rest of us. We've all got dirty water on our chests, you know, you SS hero!'

Schulze
placed a big hand in the sailor's face and shoved. The Obermaat went staggering backwards and sat down suddenly in the Herbertstrasse's dirty overflowing gutter.

`I
know, milord (1). But I wouldn't like to stick mine where you've had your dirty naval periscope.'

The
garishly attired whores leaning out of the windows of the street of brothels, not far from Hamburg's Dammtor station where Schulze had descended in hurry five minutes before, laughed hysterically. Schulze threw off his cap with an expansive gesture and bowed.

`You'll
be laughing on the other side of your faces, ladies, when you see what I've brought home for you from the front.' Drunkenly he yelled the traditional Hamburg greeting, `
Hummel
,
Hummel!
'

`
Mors
,
Mors
- arse, arse!' they screamed in delight.

Schulze
turned to the handful of middle-aged Wehrmacht men standing in front of him.

`All
right, you rear stallions, what about giving a front-line swine a break?' he chortled, doubling his fist significantly. 'I've limped here all the way from Dammtor. My need is great. You understand?' He spat on his knuckles slowly.

The
Wehrmacht men got out of his way hurriedly.

`Of
course, of course - we understand'

`I
knew you would,' Schulze grinned and slung his rucksack more firmly over his shoulder.

Inside,
the house was obviously doing booming business. Fat middle-aged maids were running back and forth, carrying bottles and cigarettes. Whores in various stages of undress were moving up and down the dingy stairs, escorting eager or tired soldiers. Somewhere rusty bed springs were squeaking frantically.

`What's
going on,' Schulze cried to the middle-aged Madam in the black silk with her dyed frizzed hair. 'On overtime or something? Or does the Führer need more cannon fodder?'

`Aren't
you gonna take off yer pack?' the Madam asked sourly. 'You men haven't even got time to take yer boots off!'

`It's
total war, mother. Everyone has got to make sacrifices, you know. I'll take my pack off afterwards. Now then, where's the girls?'

The
Madam cupped her beringed fat hands round her mouth and shouted above the noise:

`Gerda,
customers!' She turned to Schulze. 'That'll be ten marks and a mark for the Parisian.' (2)

`Only
one!' Schulz exclaimed, as the girl emerged from the gloom, clad in a bra and red panties with black lacing. 'Here,' he pulled out a can of Italian coffee, 'give me the whole shitty packet! With the flanks that mare has got on her, I'll need half a dozen just to get her warmed up, won't I, my little cheetah!' he added, putting his big arm around the girl's ample breasts.

The
Madam opened her mouth to protest, but when she saw the coffee, she hesitated.

`Real
bean coffee?'

`Real
bean coffee,' Schulze said airily, his fingers already fumbling with Gerda's left nipple. 'Picked every one myself.'

`All
right.' The Madam shoved him the whole packet of
Vulkan
across the counter. 'But remember you pay extra for each additional jump!'

`And
I thought this was the Red Cross! Come on, Gerda, show me the way to paradise, will you, and let me get through them pearly gates. I've been saving this up for over two months now and my tonsils are beginning to float.'

He
followed her up the gloomy rickety stairs, admiring her long legs, clad in black silk stockings and told himself once again that women were excitement enough; why did men need war?

`Business
is good, eh?' he asked.

`Always
will be as long as you men want to have your dirty way with us women.'

They
reached her room and the whore kicked the door closed with the heel of her shoe. Slipping off her red panties, she flopped on the brass bed which sagged wearily under her weight. In a routine voice, her eyes fixed on the flaking ceiling, her legs already spread, she said:

`Don't
forget the Parisian - and get those dice beakers off! I have to pay extra for the sheets being laundered.'

`Wouldn't
think so to look at the colour of them,' Schulze said without rancour, janking off his boots obediently. Tut get that tit-holder off. I want to have a feel at what I'm paying for. You know what Goethe said - "Feeling is everything"?'

`Screw
Goethe! It'll cost you five marks more to feel my tits.'

He
tossed a five mark piece on to the little bedside table. `Great crap on the Christmas tree - and this is what we're fighting for!'