by Sven Hassel
With a terrible oath Tiny let go of his prey who fell down half-suffocated between Heide and a former sergeant from the military concentration camp at Torgau.
Porta laughed.
‘A small warning, otherwise, bound over to be of good behaviour, as they say in educated circles. You others,’ he shouted and swung his machine-pistol menacingly, ‘will get your knobs shaved off when we find it suitable. So no monkey-business, see!’
Peters sat with his back to the bunker-wall. In his lap lay a Russian machine-pistol. He sat smoking indifferently.
In a short time the routine relief of sentries fell due. A violent quarrel was started by the SS fellow and Krosnika. They did not want to do sentry-duty, and tried to change with a couple of other men.
The Old Un suddenly threw down his cards, rose slowly and pointed at the SS fellow with his pipe.
‘You and Krosnika are not going. Heide and Francke will take over.’
Triumph shone in the eyes of the SS man, but it disappeared quickly enough when The Old Un went on:
‘You and Krosnika will go across to Ivan’s positions and come back with an accurate report of what’s going on.’
Calmly he sat down and resumed the interrupted game.
The SS man and Krosnika started muttering.
The Old Un played an ace of spades, gathered in a jack-pot and looked calmly at the pair of them:
‘Didn’t you hear my orders?’
‘It’s personal persecution,’ shouted the SS man. ‘We can’t go across to the enemy line without being covered. We object to your order.’
The Old Un leaned against the wall and fingered his P38.
‘So you object. Better use your head a little. You who are a volunteer and a party-member. What do you think your Führer would say?’
The SS man leaned threateningly across to The Old Un.
‘What do you mean? My Führer. He’s yours also, isn’t he?’
‘You’re a little bit slow, my friend.’
Tiny was about to say something, but The Old Un went on:
‘You’ve chosen the Führer voluntarily and are his man, and he’s been forced on me. Anyhow, perhaps you’ve never heard about the special courts?’
‘Don’t try to threaten me with that,’ jeered the SS man. ‘You need to be at least a company commander to convene one.’
‘You seem very sure. Don’t you know we’re cut off from the others, and that a leader of a detail like this can convene a special court when he suspects danger to the detail in the form of a meeting, treason or objections to orders. I can mount a special court for you any time and place I like.’ The Old Un banged his fist on the ammunition-box. ‘Get out, or Tiny and Porta will see you out!’
Without another syllable they swung their weapons over their shoulders and left the bunker.
Tiny passed a bottle of vodka round. When it reached Porta, Tiny said hopefully:
‘Doesn’t this life-line ever cheat you?’
‘Never, it’s dead certain,’ was Porta’s sad answer. He looked pityingly at Tiny’s deeply concerned face. His delight was great when he discovered that the Little Legionnaire’s hand too had a short life-line and became quite dotty when he found that the Little Legionnaire’s line was even shorter than his.
‘You’ll march to the muck-heap before Tiny!’ he bawled.
The Little Legionnaire looked long and searchingly into Tiny’s face. Tiny had become quite exalted and drank greedily from the vodka bottle.
‘Allah’s ways are inscrutable but true,’ mumbled the Little Legionnaire loud enough for Tiny to hear. ‘I’ll get into Allah’s garden. You who are an infidel will go to hell’s terrible suffering and corruption.’ With a motherly hand he patted Tiny’s head. ‘We’ll pray for you, poor infidel, who’ll have to suffer untold horrors when somebody in Allah’s good time sticks a knife into your back.’
Tiny had the bottle half-way to his mouth and stared at the sinisterly friendly Little Legionnaire.
‘Oh, shut up with all this spooky talk. Do you really believe in all this this cock about heaven and hell?’
The Little Legionnaire nodded seriously.
‘There is only one God, the true one, Allah, and he knows how to sort the ewes from the rams.’
Tiny looked frightenedly round him, and leaned over to the Little Legionnaire while he nervously picked his nose.
‘Tell me, pal, how’ll I get into Allah’s garden?’
The Little Legionnaire smiled a tired and hopeless smile.
‘It’ll be very difficult for you, my friend. Much will be demanded before you’ll be let in. Oh, Allah is great!’
With hearty conviction Tiny said: ‘Oh, to hell with that! Just tell Tiny what he’ll have to do to wing it to Paradise. Of two evils you pick the lesser, don’t you?’ he asked Porta.
Porta nodded in his serious agreement.
Tiny stared at him a moment.
‘Are you holy? Will you land in Allah’s garden?’
‘Of course,’ answered Porta. ‘I’ve seen to that a long time ago. I’m no idiot. For God Almighty’s sake, what if one were shot this minute and had to endure the eternal tortures of hell.’
Tiny asked every one of us if we were holy.
Everyone convincingly averred his holiness.
Almost weeping he addressed the Little Legionnaire.
‘My God! Tiny’ll go all alone to this bloody hell you talk so much about. If only one of you would come along it wouldn’t be so bad. But all alone I’ll never stand it. There’s no justice. You’ll have to help me, pal. Tiny’ll do anything you wish to make his peace with Allah.’
The Little Legionnaire looked sternly at him.
‘Are you sure you’ll do everything?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Tiny said, nodding furiously. Hope shone in his desperate face.
‘Good. You’ll have to forgive your enemies. Can you do that?’
‘Easy,’ cried Tiny and grabbed the Little Legionnaire. ‘I’ll forgive you all the evil things you’ve done to me.’
‘Me?’ groaned the surprised Little Legionnaire, when he was released.
‘Yes, you,’ beamed Tiny. ‘Up to two minutes ago you were my arch-enemy.’ He searched his pockets and gave the Little Legionnaire a small bag of white powder. ‘That’s rat poison. I was going to put it in your beer on Victory Day because you were my enemy – you kicked me on the head and broke my nose.’
‘Bloody hell,’ burst out the Little Legionnaire and stared at the happy Tiny.
‘Do you know?’ Tiny had it all worked out. ‘You were first just to have a peep at the Tommies when they marched through the Brandenburger Tor.’
‘The Tommies?’ asked Stege, astonished.
‘Yes, who else? They’ll win the war.’
Tiny turned to the Little Legionnaire again.
‘When you were going to the pub with us to celebrate the Tommies’ victory and were sitting dreaming about your life among the tarts in the Moroccan whore-boxes, you were to jump off your chair like a mad cat that’s sat on a red-hot stove. This mecidine would have taken you ten minutes to conk out. But you needn’t worry now. Tiny’s forgiven you!’
The Little Legionnaire nodded in a friendly way.
‘Good. I’ve accepted your confession. But, as you haven’t a lot of time, you’ll have to pay a fine.’
‘What the hell’s that?’ asked Tiny suspiciously.
‘All your booze and tobacco must be handed over to me to convince Allah you’ve repented your evil plans against a faithful and loyal comrade-in-arms.’
Tiny was about to protest but was warned: ‘Remember hell’s terrible torture and hand over the prescribed fine.’
‘Have you any other evil tricks up your sleeve? You’ll have to confess now to get complete absolution.’
Tiny shook his head.
‘What? Haven’t you committed any atrocities?’ shouted Porta.
‘No, never,’ said Tiny. ‘I’ve always lived a peaceful and quiet life a
nd faithfully performed my daily job.’
‘Well, I’m damned! If that’s so I must be super-good and as pious as the holy Anthony himself!’
‘Now think well,’ the Little Legionnaire admonished. ‘It would be very sad if within half-an-hour you were playing “Rocking-horse” on the lap of the Evil One and sneezing in the sulphur-steam.’
Tiny shook his head, glared, rose and kicked a steel-helmet over the head of Corporal Freytag who jumped up furiously while Tiny screamed in a frenzy:
‘Sit down, or I’ll cut your throat and take you with me to hell. I won’t be lonely …’ He stopped frightened, and looked imploringly at the Little Legionnaire.
‘What do you want to know, pal?’
‘I don’t want to know anything. It’s Allah.’ He salaamed piously and mumbled: ‘Allah-akbar!’
‘Now tell us calmly what you’ve been up to in your thirty years of wicked life,’ Bauer said severly.
Tiny drew a deep breath. He wanted to fight somebody and played thoughtfully with his combat-knife.
Porta was ready to crown him with a hand-grenade.
Tiny perspired.
‘Blimey, it’s hard to become holy. Well, well! Let me get going. I kicked a stupid clot in the stomach and he died. But that’s a long time ago. And he was a real cretin, a piece of muck, a dirty swine.’
‘Why did you kick him?’ the Little Legionnaire asked curiously. ‘You’re usually so calm.’
‘I can’t rightly remember.’
Tiny tried hard to get away from the awkward question, but the Little Legionnaire was merciless.
‘Did he die shortly after your kick or suffer for a long time?’
Tiny dried his forehead with his rifle-rag and so covered his face with dirty oil.
‘That Franz was a scoundrel. He would have been hanged in any case.’
Tiny was becoming solemn. ‘By God, I did society a service by kicking the stupid swine. He was No. 1 enemy of the world. He cheated the tarts of their money.’ Delighted with this idea, he went on: ‘Yes, that’s why I kicked him. By God, that’s why! Fancy cheating a hard-working whore. It was my duty to do something.’
Tiny brushed his hands together and looked happily around.
‘Tiny, you’re lying,’ interrupted the Little Legionnaire sternly. ‘Do you want to go to hell all alone? Thirst always among the greedy flames? Load the Devil’s heavy mortars all day long?’
Tiny licked his dry lips and was about to take a swing from his bottle when he remembered he had given the Little Legionnaire the contents. He wrung his hands and groaned loudly.
‘To think that swine’s got me into this situation! But it was his own fault things went as they did. He cheated me. He’d promised me all the beer I could drink, and when I politely asked him to honour his word he became cheeky and hit me here.’ Tiny pointed to his left ear. ‘And it hurt, so you see it was a sort of self-defence. I had to go on parade with a dirty belt and that rotten animal, Sergeant Paust, had me in the book for it. And there were other things that bloody Franz had promised to do, too. But I don’t bear him any grudge any longer.’
‘You mean he didn’t want to pay for your beer when you tried to force him. And he wouldn’t be your slave?’ said the Little Legionnaire brutally.
‘Now, it’s not necessary to say it like that. It sounds so bad.’
‘Was it like that or not? Allah sees everything. Allah hears everything.’
‘All right, if that’s the way you want it, he was a rotten animal, a paralysed ox, a castrated ram who did no good.’
The Little Legionnaire raised his hand.
‘What you said just now, I take as a personal insult, Tiny, my former arch-enemy, my present friend. Will you give me a bottle of vodka in fines?’
Tiny nodded silently.
‘You’ll have to give two. Go on with your explanation.’
Tiny swallowed painfully, roughed up his wild hair and pulled at his collar.
‘Franz would certainly have been hanged if he had survived. I couldn’t help it that he fell out of the window and hit a stake in the flower-bed.’
The Little Legionnaire shook his head.
‘This is a grim tale.’
Tiny looked nervously at him. ‘You don’t think Allah will throw me to hell for that little episode? I give you my word of honour …’
Porta hooted at Tiny’s solemn mouthing of the word honour.
Tiny looked reproachfully at him.
‘You needn’t laugh, Porta. I’ll tell you that my word of honour is something holy for me, and I give you my word of honour that Franz was a scoundrel Allah would have turned away from in disgust.’
The Little Legionnaire pointed accusingly at Tiny.
‘You’ll get your absolution, but it’ll cost nine litres of vodka or good German liquor.’
‘And where the hell will I get it?’ shouted Tiny.
‘You’ll find it, and in a hurry. Remember your short lifeline,’ the Little Legionnaire answered implacably.
‘As you wish. You’ll have it.’ He spat in his palms and looked at the rest of the section. ‘You bloody insects will all soon be heavily taxed by Tiny, you life-line thieves!’
This interesting development in Tiny’s spiritual odyssey was interrupted by the SS man and Krosnika who came running into the bunker.
‘Ivan’s gone! There’s not a soul left in the trenches. We heard engine noises and trucks rattling on the road. It’s T34s and they’re behind us!’
The SS man stopped to catch his breath.
The Old Un looked calmly at him.
‘Did you expect them to ask us when they were going to chase our units?’
‘Oh, shut up, I’m not an idiot,’ hissed the SS man furiously. ‘We’ve got to run for it or we’re trapped.’
‘Run? That’s the second time you’ve given us talk of that sort,’ jeered The Old Un. ‘You fellows are heroes of another sort when you shout “Heil!” back home. I hope it’s clear to you that I give the orders here. Maybe I’ve decided to follow the advice of your crazy Führer and fight to the last man and bullet.’
The SS man nearly exploded with indignation.
‘You call our Führer crazy? I’ll take a note of that!’
‘I hope you will,’ sneered The Old Un. ‘But answer me this: Do you want us to fight to the last man and bullet? You can decide whether we follow the Führer’s orders or not: die in battle or save our lives!’
The SS man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He opened and shut his mouth but not a syllable was heard.
‘I take it your silence means we’re going to fight. Follow your Führer. Well, get out on the road with that “stove-pipe” Pluto’s got there. Krosnika and Heide will carry the ammunition. You’ll fight the T34s at once, and ruin as many as you can before you’re crushed by the tracks.’
‘This is nonsense,’ burst out the SS man.
‘You say that – a former member of Adolf’s SS? Well then, you agree that Adolf’s crazy – a blood-thirsty maniac!’
Tiny’s voice cut through the conversation.
‘Let me see your hand, you dope!’
Before the SS man could answer, Tiny grabbed it.
‘Hm, you’ve a short life-line, you mongrel. Get out on the road or it’ll be even shorter!’
The Old Un chuckled.
‘All right, we agree to save our lives despite the Führer’s orders? It’s always easier to fight to the last breath when you can’t see Ivan or hear his T34s.’ He turned to Pluto and me: ‘You two and Heide will go up the road and see if we can get across. That’s our only chance.’
He unfolded the map on the ammunition-box. With interest we followed his dirty finger as it traced the way he thought we could escape.
‘It looks a bit large, all that green,’ said Stege. ‘Is it all jungle?’
‘Yes,’ answered The Old Un, ‘and most of it is swampy.’
Swearing, the three of us started through the forest. Heide dragg
ed the ‘stove-pipe’.
The rain streamed from the steel-helmets down our backs. The belts rubbed. We shivered in the wet uniforms. Our feet sank knee-deep in the mud and the water seeped into our boots. Every step was torture.
Pluto swore loudly and volubly.
‘You bloody well shut up,’ hissed Heide. ‘You’ll have Ivan here with all that shouting.’
Pluto raised his machine-pistol threateningly.
‘Shut up yourself, you rat. Don’t forget we’ve got accounts to settle. If Ivan comes, we’ll tell him all about your bloody acts.’
‘To think a dirty Black Sea farmer can get you all so het up. How thin-skinned you are! Anyway, it was all a mistake on my part.’
Pluto stopped.
‘A mistake!’ he shouted. It boomed through the wet forest. ‘You bloody cow, you stinking muck-heap, just wait and I’ll cut your loud-speaker for you. Then you can talk about mistakes with the blood pumping up your throat.’
‘Put a sock in it, Pluto,’ I tried to mediate. ‘Leave that idiot alone. Shoot him or let him go to hell.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you, you Fahnenjunker-boy. Don’t get on your high horse with Pluto. Do you think I’m afraid?’ He swung his machine-pistol over his head and roared into the darkness: ‘Hey, Ivan, bloody curs, Stalin-craps, come and get an informer-swine, Unteroffizier Heide! Hey, Iva-a-a-n-n!’
Heide let go the ‘stove-pipe’ and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
‘Take care you don’t fall and hurt your head,’ Pluto shouted after him.
I collected the ‘stove-pipe’ and we went on silently through the forest. The branches whipped us wetly in the face.
‘What a muck-war,’ hissed Pluto. ‘Panzer soldiers running round like “foot-rag acrobats”. God, what a monkey forest, not a damn thing to be seen.’
‘I wish you’d shut up. Write to Stalin or Adolf and complain!’
‘Oh, bloody funny!’ Pluto snarled.
Then suddenly the road appeared in front of us. Tightly packed columns of Russian infantry wrapped in capes marched past. Huge trucks and gun-carriages thundered westwards. Here and there Aldis lights winked short signals.
‘We’ll never get across this,’ whispered Pluto. ‘Let’s get away before the swine see us.’
