The Bloody Road to Death (48 page)

‘You’re under arrest,’ repeats Blatz nervously, fumbling at his holster.

‘Get your fingers off that pea-shooter!’ Tiny lifts his Mpi threateningly. ‘Don’t try it! There’s explosives in this thing. ‘Ow’d you
like
to get your bollocks pushed up in your bleedin’ throat, Blatz?’

‘You are threatening a superior? This is mutiny! Get up on your feet!’

Tiny gets up slowly and Blatz suddenly realizes how big he is.

‘Suit you all right wouldn’t it?’ grins Tiny, wickedly. ‘Court
with you on it and your velvet-pricked Hauptmann as President! Death sentence! Bang! An’ you’d like to tie me to the bleedin’ post with your own ’ands, wouldn’t you, you worn-out bag o’ shit!’

‘Yes, and bloody well
will
!’ shrills Blatz. ‘And I’ll put the mercy bullet into your filthy body myself, too!’

‘You’re round the fuckin’ bend,’ Tiny laughs, noisily. ‘Amok pig, that’s what you are! Look now! There ain’t nobody, not you nor nobody else in this man’s bleedin’ army, as is goin’ to tie Obergefreiter Wolfgang Creutzfeldt to no bleedin’ post, but ’e’s goin’ to turn oil you an’ a few more little bags o’ shit in uniform like you. You ain’t arrested
me
, Blatz! I’ve arrested
you! Did
you know I was a secret Commie?’

‘You’re mad, man,’ screams Blatz, with fear crawling up his spine. Is he face to face with a psychopathic murderer? Are those stories of murders committed in the field really true? No, no well-disciplined German soldier would do such a thing. ‘Let me pass,’ he screams, hysterically, trying to push Tiny to one side.

‘What’s your ’urry, mate?’ smiles Tiny, coldly. ‘Let’s clear up a few points first. You arrested me, and that’s been voted down. You wanted a court-martial, we’ll ’ave that ’ere. Now we’ve ’ad it, an’ I’ve ’ad to sorrowfully sentence you to death. So in five minutes from now you’ll be flyin’ away from the front all dressed up like one o’ God’s little bleedin’ angels!’

‘You are threatening an NCO and refusing to obey an order. I demand to be allowed to pass! I am your Hauptfeldwebel and your direct superior,’ splutters Blatz, with panic fear in his eyes.

‘Shut up, giraffe shit shoveller! You ain’t nothin’ but a bab-blin’ bleedin’ corpse! Come on! Be a man! It ain’t the first time you’ve taken part in an execution. You said yourself you’d often been on the Morellenschlucht, but I suppose it ain’t such a ’appy affair when it’s your own execution you’re takin’ part in!’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ whines Blatz, terrorstricken and seeming to shrink into himself.

‘
Listen
, giraffe afterbirth,
you
ain’t left me a choice in the matter, ’ave you?
You
started all this. It was
you
started screamin’ about bleedin’ courts an’ firin’-squads, an’ all that
war-mad bleedin’ piss, an’ all because I was ’avin’ forty winks! I’m
against
the bleedin’ death penalty!’

‘Help, help, murder!’ howls Blatz, desperately.

Tiny looks at him with cold interest.

‘They know that voice of yours on both sides of the front. Think any bleeder’s comin’ to ’elp
you
? When you went over that parapet, mate, everybody knew where you was goin’ to end up!’

Then this is a plot!’ screams Blatz, in despair.

‘’Ow you do talk, man. Porta says we’re all sentenced to death from the second we’re born. God decides it an’ a big black angel with a flamin’ great sword come to me while I was ’avin me snooze there an’said: “’Auptfeldwebel Blatz’s number ’as come
up
!”’

Blatz crawls sobbing along the muddy floor of the trench.

‘Comrade Creutzfeldt, don’t kill me!’

‘Comrade Blatz I’ve bleedin’
got
to! Stand up an’ be a good boy, now, so we can get it over with quick an’ easy!’

‘Comrade, let me live! I’ve two children at home!’

‘’Ave you ’ell, Comrade Blatz! You ain’t even married. I
told
you we know all about you! You never fucked anything’ but a female giraffe at the Berlin Zoo an’ nothin’ ever came o’ that effort!’

‘Comrade Creutzfeldt, don’t make yourself a common murderer! I’ve always liked you! You’re a
good
soldier!’

‘Yes, an’ I’ve appreciated it,’ laughs Tiny, heartily, and pulls the shivering Blatz close up against him. ‘To ’ell with all that shit! I’ll see you get an ’ero’s burial, so the Fatherland and all your family’ll be proud of you!’

‘It’s murder,’ cries the doomed man, struggling desperately. Tiny holds him firmly, and when they are right behind the SMG, Tiny butts him into unconsciousness.

‘’Ere’s your papers comin’ through!’ growls Tiny to himself as he lifts the unconscious man’s head up above the parapet. The Siberian snipers are back on the job and put four bullets into Blatz’s fleshy face.

Soon the relief comes along.

‘What’s this?’ asks Barcelona, astonished, pointing at the body, ‘You haven’t bloody well shot him?’

Think I’m barmy?’ answers Tiny. ‘Why do the neighbour’s boys out of a job? Members of the same union, ain’t they?’

Heide sends Tiny a suspicious look, as he bends over the body.

‘What you lookin’ for?’ asks Tiny, threateningly.

‘Marks from the edge of a hand,’ smiles Heide, poisonously.

‘D’you know what ’appens to informers, Julius?’ asks Tiny, playing with his
Kalashnikov
.

‘I know,’ answers Heide, looking at the four bullet holes with . interest. ‘I know what happens to murderers, too!’

‘Me too,’ smiles Tiny. ‘’Ad it in the family. Guillotine at Plôtzensee! Snick, an’ off goes your old turnip!’

‘Four holes,’ Heide thinks aloud. ‘He must have been standing up there all day! I’d find a hell of a good explanation for that if I was you, Tiny. I know what happened without even being here!’

‘What happened then?’

Heide picks up the body and lifts it slowly above the parapet. A shot smashes into the dead man’s head. This time it is an explosive bullet which destroys the entire face.

He drops the body in shock, and wipes brains from his face.

Porta laughs like a hyena.

‘You gave Tiny a bit more of a helping hand there than you meant to! The evidence is gone!’

Heide looks fearfully at the body’s smashed features.

‘You are my witness,’ he shouts, in a rage. ‘You all saw those ’ four holes!’

‘No, Julius, no!’ grins Porta. ‘He was still alive when you lifted him up! I’d watch it if I was you, Julius my son!’

‘What a bunch of crooks,’ snarls Heide, obviously nervous.

Tiny swings the body nonchalantly up on to one shoulder. At the dressing station he drops it at the feet of the orderly feld-webel who takes off the identity discs roughly and goes through the pockets for private effects.

‘Throw that shit over with the rest,’ he orders his assistants.

Tiny saunters, whistling happily, back to No. 2 Section’s dugout, where he runs into Buffalo.

‘Smart work, son! They’re all talkin’ about it. Can’t prove anything, I hope?’

‘Nobody can,’ laughs Tiny, confidently. ‘Not when you’re from the Reeperbahn an’ ’ave ’ad Chief Nass for a teacher!’

That afternoon Tiny is called to the OC’s office, where a legal officer is also present.

‘You were alone with Hauptfeldwebel Blatz in the SMG post? What happened?’

‘The ’err ’auptfeldwebel swarmed all over me ’cause I was keepin’ under cover up by the trench wall.’

‘Was there firing?’

‘No, sir, only if you was barmy enough to stick your nut up. That was why I was takin’ cover, sir. I tried to explain that to the ’err ’auptfeldwebel. ’E didn’t seem to believe me’n said I was a cowardly bastard as was scared o’ the
untermensch
. ’E said I was to come to attention an’ I did. An order’s an order, sir!’

‘And you were not hit?’ the legal officer looks at him doubtfully.

‘No, sir! I stood to attention with me knees bent you see, sir. The ’err ’auptfeldwebel wouldn’t believe there
was
any snipers like I was tellin’ ’im, sir, an’ wants to see ’em for ’imself. I pointed out to ’im where the slit-eyed devils usually sit with their pea-shooters an’, well, the ’err ’auptfeldwebel stuck ’is ’ead up to ’ave a look at ’em. If ’e saw ’em or not we’ll never know, will we, sir? Anyway suddenly there’s a bang and the ’err ’auptfeldwebel’s face is gone, sir!’

‘You didn’t hold him above the parapet, did you?’ asks the legal officer, threateningly.

‘
Sir
!’ says Tiny, deeply offended.

‘Well now! You and Hauptfeldwebel Blatz were not exactly good friends, were you? At least from what I have heard.’

‘’Ad the ’auptfeldwebel somethin’ against me?’ asks Tiny, wonderingly. ‘I liked ’im. We often cracked a joke together.’

The legal officer shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head resignedly, and looks uncertainly at Hauptmann von Pader.

‘Be off! God help you if I ever get evidence against you.’

When Tiny has gone van Pader bangs his fist down on the table.

‘Everything tells me it is murder! Can’t we get any evidence?
It will be the happiest day of my life, the day I see that horrible man tied to an execution post in front of a firing squad.’

‘Murderers are beheaded,’ said the legal officer, coldly.

‘Still better.’ shouts von Pader. ‘I’d have the pleasure of being a witness.’

‘Herr Hauptmann, in the first place we
have
no murderers . . .’

‘Obergefreiter Creutzfeldt is a murderer,’ screams von Pader, with a wild glint in his eyes.

‘No more than you or I. It is wishful thinking on your part. There is no proof. Quite the opposite. I believe Creutzfeldt is telling the truth, Hauptfeldwebel Blatz
would
have acted in just that foolish way.’

Von Pader pours cognac and empties two glasses quickly. He does not notice that the legal officer has not touched his.

‘My friend,’ says von Pader, confidentially, bending forward across the table. ‘I have connections in Berlin. Would you like to come to serve with me in Berlin soon? I have merely to inspect the front when there is a little action. I have then had front-line experience and can leave.’

‘I don’t know quite what you mean, Herr Hauptmann?’

‘Could not you and I together produce evidence of murder?’

The legal officer gets up quickly and puts on his greatcoat.

‘Herr von Pader, I think you are the most infamous swine I have ever met! I am ashamed to wear the same uniform as you. For your information, every word of this conversation will be reported to Oberst Hinka. I believe you will have need of your connections in Berlin!’

‘You have no witnesses,’ shouts von Pader, red as a turkey in the face.

‘We shall see whom Oberst Hinka believes. You have not gained friends in your time with the 27th Panzer Regiment!’

The legal officer slams the door with force enough to make the white-wash flake down from the ceiling.

Hauptmann von Pader jumps into his Kübel and races to Signals at Kowel, where he puts through an express call to Bendlerstrasse.

His friend, SS-Brigadeführer Ahlendorf, chief of SD Inland,
promises him an immediate recall to Berlin and a posting to the SS.

On top of the world, von Pader returns to his company, and decides to have a look at the front line for the last time. Who knows? Maybe he just might get the chance to settle matters with Creutzfeldt.

‘Where to, sir?’ asks his driver, Obergefreiter Bluhme.

‘To the front!’

‘
Where
?’ jerks Bluhme in astonishment. He can hardly believe his own ears.

‘Got dirt in your ears, man? I said the front!’

‘No sweat for me, sir,’ grins Bluhme, and starts off at a speed which makes it seem as if he cannot get von Pader out there quickly enough.

‘Keep your stupid remarks to yourself!’

There is a general stir along the trench when we discover von Pader has come out to us.

Cockily he struts down the connecting trench, inspects the advanced posts, observes through the periscope.

This then was the bulwark holding back the Mongol wave. Suddenly he feels himself to be a bigger man. He straightens his new steel helmet.

‘Where is the enemy?’ he asks Barcelona.

‘300 yards that way, sir,’ grins Barcelona.

‘Keeping well out of sight, the cowardly pigs.
Untertnensch
, that’s what they are.’

‘Don’t suppose they’re tired of life yet, sir,’ smiles Barcelona. ‘If the Herr Hauptmann was to stand over on the other side and look through
their
periscopes, he wouldn’t see anything over here either. ‘Less it was some damn fool like Hauptfeldwebel Blatas.’

‘Keep your mouth shut,’ snarls von Pader, viciously. He feels his heart beating strongly in his chest. Here he stands. An officer in the army of the Fiihrer. A German crusader fighting the heathen hordes of Asia. Softly he hums ‘Wacht am Rhein’.

Barcelona observes him wonderingly. They continue on through the communicating trench where von Pader stumbles on Tiny, who is sitting in the bottom of the trench with a bucket of hot potatoes in front of him.