Guns At Cassino (18 page)

Gradually
the fire ebbed away, leaving behind no sound save the moans of the wounded and an echoing silence that seemed like eternity.

`Fifty
dead, perhaps the same number wounded, sir,' Schulze reported, pushing back his helmet and wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected in the red puckered mark the helmet-liner made. 'Same number taken prisoner.'

`Thank
you, Schulze,' the officer replied, fitting a new magazine to his Schmeisser, while the long line of prisoners against the wall eyed his movements in dumb apprehension.

The
Creeper pushed his way through the chattering SS troopers, greedily spooning out chopped meat from the looted C ration cans.

`What
are you going to do with them?' he asked eagerly, his nerve recovered now that the shooting was over.

`What
do you suggest?' he answered, slinging the Schmeisser over his shoulder carelessly.

`Shoot
them!' the Creeper rapped.

`Why?'

`Don't you see? If we slaughter the pigs,' he jerked a plump, well-manicured red thumb at the frightened prisoners, 'then we create the incident the Führer wants. It will cause an outrage among the Amis. I hear they worry about such trivialities.'

`Trivialities,
eh' von Dodenburg echoed the word thoughtfully. Then his face hardened. 'Listen Kriecher, those are men - not trivialities. It is not necessary to shoot them; therefore they will not be shot. The night is still young and we have a lot to do. Do not fear, Kriecher, you will get your incident and the Führer’s plan will be realized.'

`And
the prisoners, sir,' Schulze butted in.

`Simple.'
Von Dodenburg turned towards the wretched Amis. 'Listen,' he bellowed in halting English. 'I am to count to three. If you are not gone then - you are dead. You understand?' He raised his machine-pistol menacingly to emphasize his threat. 'That way. Now, get ready to run. One - two - '

Behind
his back, the Creeper sneered:

`Why
bother to save such rubbish? They are a burden to humanity. Look at them,' he nudged Schulze in the ribs, as the prisoners broke ranks and ran wildly down the lane leading out of the village, shouting fearfully and jostling each other in order to get out of the line of fire. 'A human rabble, not even worthy of a German bullet.'

That
night the triumphant SS patrol ranged far and wide behind the American lines, burning, looting, destroying with impunity. The whole rear echelon was disorganized and apart from a few wild shots, no one attempted to stop them. A whole truck park went up in flames. A convoy of jeeps, speedily backing down a side road, ran into the looted Hawkins grenade daisy chain which they had spread across it. One after another they disappeared in vicious balls of flame. A group of tankers sleeping around their laager of Shermans were sent fleeing for their lives with a single burst of spandau so that the volunteers could destroy the six thirty-ton tanks at their leisure.

`Christ
on a crutch,' young Bauer breathed, 'I can't believe it - it's just like being on manoeuvres back at Sennelager, with the old gentlemen of the Landwehr playing the enemy!'

`Don't
take it for standard operation procedure, Bauer,' von Dodenburg warned. 'It isn't always as easy as this. This time we've caught them with their knickers down. But it won't always be like this, believe me.'

Just
before dawn, as they emerged from a thick grove of olive trees, the patrol almost bumped into the tented camp. Von Dodenburg held up his hand in warning. The SS men froze, while he surveyed the circle of bell-tents carefully. As far as he could see there were no guards and no other form of defence. The camp seemed to be asleep; there was no sound save an odd persistent thudding sound, which he could not immediately identify.

`Looks
as if the Amis are getting in some sack time, sir,' Schulze suggested.

`Could
be,' said von Dodenburg, surveying the lonely little encampment.

`But
their security's pretty damn lousy even for the Amis.'

He
made up his mind. In an hour or so, it would be light. This would be their last assignment; then they would have to make a rapid return to their own positions before the Amis were alerted and started to bring up the big battalions.

`All
right, Bauer and you Kriecher, round to the right with your men. I'll take the left flank. And get the lead out of the men's arses - we're not going to spend more than fifteen minutes here. You read me?'

With
the Creeper nervously fumbling with his machine-pistol, the Bauer group disappeared round the side of the camp. Von Dodenburg spread his fingers on the crown of his helmet - the infantry signal for 'rally on em' - and with his men close on his heels, he doubled soundlessly for the nearest bell tent.

Silently
they moved round the circle, scenting out potential danger. But there was no sound save the strange noise von Dodenburg had heard while they had still been in the olives. Now, as they came closer to it, von Dodenburg recognized it as that of someone digging, with every now and again the noise of a shovel being struck against the ground to free it of dirt. He halted a moment.

`Schulze,
I'm going in alone. You cover me. But no firing unless it's absolutely necessary. We don't want to alarm the place until young Bauer has had a chance to get into position. Understand?'

Cautiously,
his body crouched and tensed against the bullets that might come flying his way at any moment, von Dodenburg crept forward. Now he realized that the digging was accompanied by soft toneless humming. He took a deep breath and swung round the edge of the tent, finger gripped tautly over the Schmeisser's trigger.

A
macabre scene met his eyes. In the hissing yellow light of a Coleman lantern, two middle-aged Negro soldiers were digging a hole. Behind them lay four neat lines of khaki-clad corpses, rigid and motionless, staring sightlessly at the night sky, exactly as if they had died on parade. Von Dodenburg realized immediately who they were and what this place was - it was an Ami clearing station for the casualties of the abortive river crossing.

Waving
a relaxed arm at Schulze and the rest to come up he stepped into the circle of flickering yellow light cast by the petroleum lantern resting on a ration box.

`Hands
up!' he commanded.

The
bigger of the two soldiers paused calmly in mid-stroke and raised his head with unhurried nonchalance. The other remained bent. He lifted his head slowly, however, his eyes filled with disapproval at this interruption of their work.

`I
said - hands up!' von Dodenburg snapped as the rest of his men crowded in behind him and took in the strange scene, their tired eyes filled with awe. 'You are my prisoners.'

The
bigger of the two took off his helmet liner and scratched his head with a dirty hand.

`Prisoners,
you say? You a German, man?'

But
before the young officer could answer the question the hysterical hiss of a Schmeisser machine-pistol had cut through the heavy pre-dawn silence.

As
soon as they had burst dramatically into the first tent and found it full of nothing more dangerous than a semi-circle of wounded men lying on the floor, their arms attached to the life-giving drip-drip of the plasma bottles, snoring with the heavy, grating rasp of men under sedation, the Creeper had realized that this was it. As they entered the surgical tent, where the two surgeons were still operating in the blinding white circle of light cast by the hissing lanterns, their aprons stained up to the chest with blood, the Creeper knew definitely that he must seize this great opportunity to make the Führer's plan succeed.

`What
the goddam hell are you doing nurse, to leave - '

The
leading surgeon's cry of anger at the flap being opened behind his back died on his lips as he saw the two officers armed with machine-pistols standing there. Above the tight mask, his eyes flooded with fear. Then he pulled himself together. With a brisk nod, he indicated that the other surgeon, aided by an obviously severely frightened orderly, should continue their work on the leg of the man stretched out naked on the bloody table.

`What
do you want?' he snapped in German.

`You
speak German. Are you a Jew?' the Creeper asked.

`I
asked you a question,' the surgeon retorted.

Behind
him on the table, the other surgeon had begun to slice into the unconscious soldier's thigh with deft strokes. Blood began to gush out of the wounds. The frightened orderly tried to stem the bleeding, but his eyes were still on the intruders.

`You
are in no position to ask questions,' the Creeper barked coldly. 'Here, I am the one who asks questions, do you understand?'

The
head surgeon sighed wearily, his mask moving in and out as he did so.

`All
right, then you are in charge. Now what do you want to know?'

Behind
him the other surgeon had begun to cut through the thigh bone. The finely-toothed saw made a sickening grating sound as it bit into the bone. Bauer swallowed hard.

`Come
on, Kriecher,' he said thickly, his mouth full of bile. `Let's get out of here.' He dragged his eyes away from the blood-stained table. 'I'll puke up my ring soon if we don't.'

The
Creeper did not take his eyes off the surgeon.

`All
right, if you have no stomach for it, you'd better go now, Bauer. I'll handle this myself. Besides there will be worse to come.'

`What
do you mean?' Bauer began.

But
the words ended in a thick retch, as the other surgeon lifted up the nearly severed leg and holding it high with his free hand started to separate it completely from the bloody mess of the thigh. Bauer blundered out hurriedly, his hand pressed hard to his lips. Slowly the Creeper lifted his Schmeisser. The dark eyes watched him warily over the top of the face-mask. As Creeper clicked off the safety-catch, that wariness grew into fear.

`What
do you think you're going to do, man?' the American cried.

At
the table the other surgeon had finished. He allowed the severed leg to fall on to the bloodied floor.

`Pick
it up,' he said automatically to the orderly.

The
orderly did not react. He, like the senior surgeon, was staring as if mesmerized at the SS officer as he slowly swung the muzzle of his machine-pistol round to level on them.

`Will
ya pick up the goddam leg, man.
For
Chrissake!
' the other surgeon snarled angrily as he bent over the thigh.

Suddenly
the orderly's mouth opened wide. His face crumpled. He screamed:

`Don't
shoot -
please
.
'
He dropped to his knees, his hands held up in supplication. It was then that the Creeper fired. The blast of slugs at that short range threw the head surgeon bodily against the tent wall. He slumped down slowly, the blood streaming out of a dozen wounds across his riddled chest. The orderly's face disappeared in a welter of blood. The second surgeon slumped over the table, his head buried in the thick red mess of the unconscious man's stump. Wiping his mouth free of spittle with his left hand, the Creeper crossed the tent and held his machine-pistol against the unconscious man's head. He pulled the trigger. It was a short burst. But it was enough. The Ami's head shattered like that of a wax dummy. Blood and white fragments of bone shot everywhere. Suddenly the whole side of the tent was dyed a bright red.

The
Creeper hurried out, wiping his bloodied hand on the dead surgeon's gown with a grimace of disgust. A handful of SS men, who stood in a circle around the retching Bauer, looked at him in alarm.

`What's
the fireworks for?' someone cried.

`Hold
your trap,' the Creeper snapped, completely in control now. 'You, you and you, fix bayonets and follow me - hurry now!'

`Fix
bayonets - why?' someone queried.

`Don't
ask questions, man,' the Creeper yelled. 'Your job is to obey orders. If you don't want to, you must take the consequences and believe me they won't be nice.'

Swiftly
the SS men clamped their rifles between their knees and began to fix the bayonets to the end of the rifles. Bauer, supporting himself weakly against a tree, asked:

`What
are you going to do, Kriecher?'

The
Creeper didn't answer. Time was of the essence now. He had complete control and he was going to use it. There would be time for explanations afterwards.

`Follow
me – at the double!'

Together
with his squad, he burst into the first tent. It was filled with heavily sedated men. They bayoneted them easily, going from bed to bed with systematic cruelty. One man screamed, his spine arching his body in agony, before he slumped dead on the blood-stained cot. The rest died, not even aware that they had been slaughtered so brutally.