Wheels of Terror (22 page)

'First I'm going to steal some potatoes and a lorry-load of pork from some idiot who's been stupid enough to hide it until my grand progress brings me to his house. Of these heavenly articles I'm going to make mashed potatoes with small pork-dice.'

'Do you use dripping in your potato-mash or do you chop parsley into it?' Tiny wanted to know.

'Dripping is best. Greenery is very nice, but it slides down quicker with dripping. That means you can fill yourself quickly, shit it out, and start all over again.'

'I never thought of that,' Tiny said quite seriously. 'Thanks for the tip!'

'My God, eating!' groaned the Little Legionnaire. 'Wish we had something to stuff ourselves with right up to the gullet.'

'Well, we haven't got much time to talk about grub. We must think seriously about what we're up to here,' Porta went on. 'This war is no picnic. We've got to starve and at the same time keep shitting our guts out. You get tired of a war like this. It reminds me of an obstacle race at the training battalion where you take turns at pricking each bastard's neck with a bayonet when he won't run fast enough - all designed to give everyone a complete understanding of how serious war is. Hell, if it wasn't serious they'd never have mentioned war in the Bible.'

'God in heaven, help us,' said Tiny and peeped across at the Russians. 'If only we had a baton like that Israelite field-marshal had at the Red Sea crossing. That would have been a miracle weapon to make Stalin's eyes pop!'

'Did he really get across with the whole division?' asked Pluto doubtingly.

'He did,' answered Porta, 'and when that Egyptian Stalin came running behind, the old field-marshal flipped his stick out and all Pharaoh's horse-drawn T34s landed at the bottom of the Red Sea.'

'By God, how Ivan would gape if Porta had a stick like that next time we get to the sea!'

'The next time you see the sea it'll be the Atlantic,' laughed The Old Un, 'and with the speed we're going it won't be too long.'

'Look out,' cried Moller and raised his stormcarbine.

Porta sent a burst from his machine-gun at a body of Russians who had hidden just in front of our position and were now trying to get back to their own line. They did not succeed. They were literally chopped to bits by Porta's precision-firing.

Lieutenant Weber came running, swearing at us. He lectured The Old Un who was No. 2 Platoon commander.

'What are you thinking of, Sergeant? Why don't you stop your men firing? Ivan's all around us and is just waiting for a chance to lay us flat. How can you, a senior NCO let things like this happen when you've got the strictest orders not to fire. If it happens again you'll lose your stripes, Sergeant. I tell you when we're out of this you'll have me to deal with!'

'Yes, Herr Oberleutnant,' was The Old Un's short answer.

A short giggle from Porta and Pluto made Weber whip round.

'Who's got the cheek to laugh at me - a German officer!' he shouted hysterically.

'Ivan!' It came from the dark night.

'Step forward that man! Nobody dares play with me,' bleated the agitated Oberleutnant Weber.

The Ordnance Officer, Lieutenant Bender, came silently up and cut Weber short by saying:

'The orders are complete silence.'

Weber turned round and glared at the little ordnance officer.

'Are you teaching me orders, Lieutenant?'

'Out here the officers usually address each other in the second person,' announced Bender quietly.

'We'll see about that, "Herr Leutnant"! There are still a few decent officers in the Germany army and we wish to maintain proper discipline and respect for all superior ranks.'

'Let's forget it till we're out of this battle,' said Bender with a smile.

Porta's voice rang out loudly and clearly in the darkness:

'Discussion in the officers' mess at Cherkassy. Temporary picnic spot for the Nazi army. Heil! Kiss me on my bare ...'

Weber nearly had a fit. He screamed again about a court-martial for all of us when we got out.

Porta cackled mockingly in the dark.

'Oh, my pink one, fancy educated people believing in miracles. Do you hear, lads? "When we get out"!'

'Why not a quick little duel with flick-knives, Herr Oberleutnant,' guffawed Tiny who lay in the same hollow as Porta and the Little Legionnaire. 'We'll cut your matrimonial prospects out of you!'

Weber lost all vestige of sanity.

'This is mutiny! Mutiny, you swine! You threaten my life!' He waved his machine-pistol in the air and had difficulty in breathing. 'This company is not worthy of the German Fuhrer's uniform. I'll see to it that all this gets straight to Adolf Hitler, our godly German Fuhrer.'

The whole of No. 5 Company laughed uproariously and Porta bawled:

'We'll throw away Adolf's rags with pleasure here and now, but they're a bit threadbare!'

'Half of mine aren't Adolf's, they're Ivan's,' cried Tiny.

'You are my witness,' shouted Oberleutnant Weber to Lieutenant Bender.

'Of what?' Bender asked astonished.

'You heard what this man said, and the threats and insults this rabble have uttered against a National Socialist German officer.'

'I don't know what you're talking about, Herr Oberleutnant. You must be shell-shocked. Captain von Barring will be very surprised to hear your judgment, not to speak of Herr Oberstleutnant Hinka. He always reckons No. 5 Company to be the best of all the eight companies in the regiment.'

Indifferently Bender slung his machine-pistol over his shoulder and left Oberleutnant Weber raging and frothing.

The advance to Podapinsky during the next few days was a real nightmare. Again and again a man would throw himself down in the snow and refuse to go on. Only rifle butts and brutal kicks managed to drive exhausted soldiers forward.

The Russian troops we encountered were fanatics. They fought as we had never seen them fight before, wildly and bravely. Even small isolated groups went on to the last man. At night they attacked in small groups and we suffered constant losses among our sentries. From our prisoners we learned that our opponents were the 32nd Siberian Rifle Division from Vladivostock, supported by units from the 82nd Soviet Infantry Division and reinforced by two panzer brigades.

We received help against these two
elite
units from our 72nd Infantry Division, but felt the whole time that the Russians were about to snap the pincers behind us.

They caught two NCOs from No. 3 Company and the next morning we heard them screaming. It gave us gooseflesh. Drawn-out and gurgling, their cries echoed across the snow-hell.

We could hardly believe our eyes when our colleagues on the other side put up two crosses on which the two NCOs were crucified. Each had a piece of barbed wire wrapped round his head like a crown of thorns. When they fainted the Russians stabbed their feet with bayonets till they started to scream again.

In the end when we were unable to stand their screaming any longer Porta and the Little Legionnaire crawled out to a shell-hole and shot the two crucified men dead.

The Russians on discovering what had happened roared with rage and battered us with mortar-shells. It cost us eight fallen.

At Podapinsky our foes succeeded in taking an entire section from No. 7 Company. The captured men roared and screamed during the treatment our colleagues gave them. A commissar shouted at us through his megaphone:

'Soldiers of the 27th Panzer Regiment, we're going to show you what we do to people who don't volunteer to put down their arms and come across to us, the Soviet-Russian workers and peasant army.'

An inarticulate roar from a human being in intolerable pain and need swelled across to us. Then it died down slowly.

The commissar continued:

'Did you hear it? Don't you think Gefreiter Holger cried nicely? Now you'll hear Gefreiter Paul Buncke cry just as nicely as we take away some of his body adornments. Listen, soldiers, of the 27th!'

Again we heard those terrible screams and choked roars. This time they lasted a quarter of an hour.

'My God, what on earth can they be doing to them?' whispered The Old Un with tears in his eyes.

'Just wait, you Communist swine,' hissed Tiny. 'I'll make you scream. You poisoned bastards, you'll soon discover Tiny from Bremen is on a visit to your bloody country!'

The voice of the commissar started again. He was laughing as he shouted:

'He was a tough fellow that Paul Buncke, but even he couldn't stand having an empty cartridge case knocked into his kneecap. More amusements are on the way! We'll now see if Feldwebel Kurt Meincke is equally tough as he's a unit leader and has got close-combat gongs plus an iron cross of the first-class. He's bound to be a very fine Hitler soldier. We thought we might cut his navel out, but first soften him up by cutting his toes off with the barbed-wire cutters. Listen now, lads!'

Again came the inarticulate roars, but this time they were a little easier to bear, only eight minutes according to Pluto's stop watch.

Porta was white as a sheet.

'I'm going across. Who's coming?'

The whole of No. 5 Company wanted to go with him but he shook his head and without a word pointed out twenty-five men for his use. They consisted of the whole of our group and the larger part of No. 2 Platoon, all old experienced patrol and close-combat men.

In a fever we made ourselves ready. We got hold of some T-and S-mines and made several satanic explosives. In addition we had Porta's flame-thrower and three more.

As Porta prepared his flame-thrower he said icily:

'Remember now, we want some officers and the commissar, all unharmed. We'll butcher the rest of the gang.'

Lieutenant Weber opened his mouth to say something, but a glance at the killer-party made him stop. His face was chalk-white and he shook like an aspen.

Our path lay through a peaceful-looking wood, behind the Russian positions. We sneaked along through bushes and undergrowth.

Tiny and the Little Legionnaire kept close to Porta. The Old Un never said a word. His face had turned to stone. We all had one thought: revenge at all costs. We were far from normal. We were people sunk to the level of savage animals in primeval times and we could sniff our prey.

'Quickly, take cover,' ordered Porta suddenly.

We pressed ourselves into the snow and followed Porta's actions. He lay still behind a tree and stared through his binoculars.

Scarcely 200 yards in front of us sat two Soviet soldiers on a fallen tree-trunk. They were sentries judging by the rifles which lay supported by the tree.

Porta and Tiny crawled up to the two unsuspecting men from the side.

Breathless, we watched them as they crept nearer their quarry. One of the Russians suddenly straightened up and stared into the wood.

Without a sound Porta and Tiny sank into the snow. The Little Legionnaire gripped his LMG tighter and his eye travelled along its sighting-line. Both the Russians would have been shot the minute they spotted us. But to our relief the one put down his rifle again, took out a piece of bread from his pocket, and started to eat it.

The other filled his pipe and said something to his friend. Both laughed softly and contentedly.

Porta and Tiny crawled nearer, yard by yard. With an enormous leap they fell on the Russians. The one with the pipe fell forward, his head split by Porta's entrenching-tool. The other had his throat cut while Tiny held him in his bear-like grip.

Indifferently they threw the corpses aside. One still clutched his uneaten bread.

Tiny collected the fallen pipe and put it in the pocket of his snow-shirt.

The Old Un consulted the compass and the map.

'We must go farther south or else we'll get too far behind the main front-line.'

Porta hurried on. He had the flame-thrower on his back again. He waved us on impatiently.

'Now remember, we must get a couple of their bosses alive,' he grinned and patted his long combat-knife.

'Allah is good,' whispered the Little Legionnaire. 'To-night many will leave this vale of sorrow helped on their way by my little knife. I'll get an honoured place in Allah's garden when I go!' He put his combat-knife lovingly to his lips.

Then the silence was broken by a couple of drawn-out explosions. A carpet of fire rolled over the sky. It looked like a glowing blind being pulled up.

Startled and frightened we pressed ourselves flat to the snow. Four more explosions, then silence.

'Katjuscha,' whispered The Old Un, 'they must be quite near.'

Soundlessly and carefully we crawled on. Through a gap in the trees we saw a battery of the feared Russian 30-cm. rocket-thrower M13, called 'Katjuscha'.

Without a word our party fanned out ready to destroy the battery.

Four huge Otto-Diesel trucks stood unmanned 200 yards away on the forest road. Bauer quickly went ahead and placed a sticky-bomb in each engine so that the vehicles would blow up when the fuses detonated.

'They must feel bloody safe here without a single sentry to guard the trucks,' said Stege.

'Quiet,' The Old Un whispered sharply.

The Russian artillery men were busy loading the twelve barrels of each gun. It takes fifteen minutes to load a rocket-thrower like that even when you are well trained.

The Old Un pointed out each rocket-thrower crew to the separate parties detailed to eliminate them. It was essential for each of our four parties to attack at once and to reach its target at the same time.

Just as we were about to rush at them a light shone from a bunker between the trees where someone opened a door, and a voice gave some orders. Then the door was shut again.

'Porta and Tiny take care of that bunker,' ordered The Old Un. 'But no shooting, or else we're sold.'

We pulled out our knives and entrenching-tools and went forward as one man. Only one of the rocket-crews had time to defend itself.

The whole thing took only a few minutes and not a single shot was fired. The Russians lay in their blood-stained snow.

We sat down sweating after the short but violent battle. Moller, visibly shaken, sat rocking while he mumbled a prayer.