Guns At Cassino (28 page)

He
turned to the Madame.

`And
now, madame, your high-class establishment is going to have the honour of an unofficial visit from the new NCO Corps of the Wotan Battle Group.' Before the fat Italian brothel-owner could react, he had pulled out his NCO's whistle and blown a shrill blast, the signal for the drunken, unkempt men waiting outside. The noise of their heavy, nailed dice-beakers, as they stampeded up the stone stairs, thundered like a herd of wild bulls.

A
drunken corporal, his tunic torn open, his cap missing, his face covered in two days' growth of beard, dived in through a window. Ignoring the shower of smashed glass and Madame's shrieks, he inquired anxiously:

`Got
it all laid on, Sergeant?’

`Yes!'
yelled Schulze, as they came smashing through the door, sending a flower vase flying, ripping down the heavy velvet curtains of the entrance, stumbling over the chairs, `there's cunt for everybody.'

`But
you didn't pay for this lot!' the Madame screamed.

`What's
good enough for one Wotan man is good enough for them all.'

`Those
men are not fit enough to fuck a pig - never mind my girls,' bellowed Madame Rosa furiously.

Without
another word Schulze rammed his big docker's hand between her plump legs and lifted her on to his shoulder.

`Those
lads, Rosa, are the best in the world - they deserve the best.' He heaved her to a more comfortable position. 'Come on, your old bones are going to be rattled this afternoon. Be happy you're going to get a bit of something that other women pray for at night at their bedside. And if you're good, I won't put a bag over your head after all.'

With
the screaming, struggling Madame bouncing up and down on his shoulder, he ran up the stairs to the waiting whores, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks.

They
paraded at the goods station just before midnight. The Führer's special train was already there, steam rising in a thin trail from its gleaming locomotive in the yellow light of the blacked-out lamps. The chain-dogs were everywhere, their silver plates around their necks, carbines slung over their shoulders, their eyes wary and hard as they watched the veterans form up. A couple of them bore the black eyes they had received in the confused fighting at Madame Rosa's when they had tried to get Schulze's party out by force. But there was no further need for their services. The steam had gone out of the Wotan men. Now they waited, exhausted, for their commander and the order to board the special train which the Führer had sent to bring back the survivors of his premier SS regiment.

The
chocolate-coloured pre-war Rolls-Royce of their CO's mistress drew up slowly at the exit. The black-suited chauffeur sprang out and opened the door for von Dodenburg. He turned to the woman nestled in the luxurious upholstery and they saw him touch his cap in farewell. Then he turned and marched stiffly to the waiting line of men. Schwarz clicked his heels together.

`Parade
-
parade
shun
!
'

One
hundred pairs of boots hit the concrete as one. They froze into rigid immobility. Schwarz swung round, strode five paces to where von Dodenburg was waiting. He halted and snapped to attention. His gloved hand touched his cap.

`Beg
to report respectfully - one officer, five NCOs and one hundred and two men of Battle Group Wotan on parade, Colonel!'

`Thank
you, Schwarz. Please tell the men to stand at ease.'

`At
your command, Colonel!'

The
dice-beakers smashed on to the concrete again. Von Dodenburg faced them in an echoing silence, broken only by the hiss of escaping steam. For a long moment, his blue eyes ran the length of their ranks. Their uniforms were shabby and stained with battle, but their chests were heavy with tin. Yet it wasn't the bronze and steel of their decorations which told him with a thrill of recognition and pride - that these men were the best National Socialists Germany could produce: the elite of the elite. It was their gaunt, fanatical faces. And they were his - to mould into a formation which would be invincible, whatever the odds.

`Soldiers
of Battle Group Wotan! Germans!
Comrades!
' he began, 'tonight we return to the Reich. Tomorrow we begin to train a new Wotan. Already the barracks are filling with our new recruits - the cream of the Hitler Youth, young and idealistic, volunteers to a man. You and I will train them in the glorious, heroic battle tradition of our formation, for which so many brave men have died.'

He
raised his voice. 'But the new Wotan will be different from the old one. It will be
our
regiment, an elite regiment run by and for us. Its only loyalty will be to Germany, the Führer and itself.' He paused to let his words take effect. 'When we return to Berlin, each and every one of you will become an NCO -
my
NCOs
. All of you have fought and bled at my side. I know you all like a brother - you know me in the same way. We are comrades!'

At
the exit the chocolate-coloured Rolls had still not driven away. A chain-dog had tried to move it on. But a thousand Liri note hastily thrust into his fist by the pale hand through the rear window convinced him his effort was unnecessary. Lisa stayed.

`Standard-bearer!'
von Dodenburg rapped.

The
young corporal carrying the Wotan black silk Death's Head banner marched forward smartly.

`Lower
the standard!'

Von
Dodenburg turned his burning gaze on his men again. `Comrades, I want you - my non-commissioned officers corps - to swear this oath after me.'

He
took the black silk of the banner in his left hand and raised the first two fingers of his right aloft.

`Repeat
after me ... In the name of the Führer, in the name of the Third Reich, and in the name of Wotan.'

The
response came in a steady regular bass, sending the pigeons in the roof flapping wildly in alarm.

`I
swear that I shall fight to the death ... to keep our enemies from the Fatherland ... I swear to carry out every order I am given ... no matter what it may be.'

Von
Dodenburg waited, straight and proud, for the reply to die away. 'And if I betray this oath, I shall be executed as a traitor to my Fatherland, my Führer, my comrades and the Wotan.'

`.
.. my comrades and the Wotan,' a hundred harsh young voices repeated, while the watching chain-dogs stared at the haggard veterans, whom they had turfed out of Milan's red light district only a short hour ago.

Von
Dodenburg nodded to the young standard-bearer. He swung round, the skull fluttering in the faint breeze.

`Captain
Schwarz,' he called, 'mount up.'

Behind
him the impatient hiss of escaping steam grew louder. The driver had finished his last inspection. He swung himself into the cab. Slowly the chain-dogs began to drift back to their billets. There would be no more trouble from the Wotan this night. Up in the roof, the loudspeakers burst into metallic life:

`Special
train for Innsbruck, Munich, Dresden ...’

One
by one the survivors began to climb aboard.

`
Kuno!
'

Colonel
von Dodenburg, watching his men embark, spun round. It was Lisa, her dark Italian eyes misted with tears, a bunch of wilting white narcissi in her hand.

`Stay,'
she said brokenly.

He
shook his head numbly. Behind him Schulze shouted at a big South Tyrolean farm boy who was trying to lug a looted parrot in a great gilt cage aboard.

`Come
on - haul ass! And what the hell do you want that vulture for anyway? Can't you see that it's a shitting Yid - with that curved conk?'

`Screw
you,' the parrot croaked.

Slowly
Lisa handed von Dodenburg the drooping white flowers.

`Eh,
la
guerra
.
Quando
finira
?
'

`The
war - when will it be over?' he repeated slowly. ‘For us of Wotan,' he said, 'it will be over when we are dead.' Gently he pressed the flowers back into her hand.

The
driver sounded his whistle. It echoed mournfully through the midnight station. Slowly the special train began to draw away from the platform. Without another word, Colonel von Dodenburg turned and doubled swiftly for his compartment. A door slammed. The steam wreathed the Italian girl. She stood there, frozen like a sad grey ghost as the train gathered speed. Window after window rattled by her. A pair of red rearlights. The lights vanished in the darkness. And she was alone on the platform. The men of Wotan were on their way north to fight a new battle. It was June 6th, 1944. They would never return to Italy.

Chapter Notes

One: Cassino

1.
The SS Regiment which bore the title of Bodyguard (
transl
.)

2.
East Mark, Nazi terminology for Austria. (
transl
.)

Two

1. Popular Germany Army card game (
transl.
)

Chapter Three

1. Soldiers' slang for money (
transl
.)

Chapter Four

1. Army slang for the
Tedeschi
,
i
.
e
. 'Germans' (
transl
.)

Chapter Five

1. SS slang for the Russian multiple mortar (
transl
.)

2.
The usual midday soup in the Wehrmacht, supposedly made from horsemeat (
transl
.)

3.
Kriecher
is the German word for 'creeper' (
transl
.
note
)

Chapter Six

1. German Army slang for the jackboot (
transl
.)

2.
A castle in Westphalia, housing the tombs of several Saxon kings, which Himmler had restored because he believed he was descended from one of them.

Chapter Seven

1. The Hamburg red-light district (
transl
.)

2.
The reference is to Frederick the Great, the great Prussian king of the eighteenth century, who was Himmler's idol (
transl
.)

Chapter Eight

1. German Army slang term for a sailor (
transl
.)

2.
Parisian: Army slang for a contraceptive (
transl
.)

3.
Youths, mainly from the Hitler Youth, conscripted into the anti-. aircraft defences of most big German cities during the war (
transl
.)

4.
The feared Germany Army military prison (
transl
.)

Chapter Nine

1. Head of the Prussian Secret Police in the nineteenth century.

2.
The Prussian ruling house until 1918.

Chapter Ten

1. Rail Transport Office (
transl
.)

2.
Regular compulsory meetings for members of the Union of German Maidens which took place after school or work (
transl
.)

3.
Tough, working-class area (
transl
.)

Eleven

1. Concentration camp slang for the head (
transl
.)

2.
German Army slang for the three-engined Junkers 52 transport plane (
transl
.)

Chapter Twelve

1. Leo Kessler:
Claws
of
Steel
for further details.

Thirteen

1. German Army slang for a hopeless mission (
transl
.)

Fourteen

1. Gen. Clark's Chief-of-Staff (
transl
.)

2.
Contemptuous SS name for a Catholic priest (
transl
.)

Fifteen

1. A modified bren-gun carrier (
transl
.)

Seventeen

1. In the SS, NCOs were saluted (
transl
.)