by Sven Hassel
‘Vasilij,’ he introduces himself, shaking hands all round. ‘By Kunfu,4 here stink good of schnapps,’ he cries, sniffing loudly. ‘Vasilij like schnapps too! Bad pinic no schnapps!’ He empties Porta’s bottle rapidly, and rolls himself in a groundsheet. ‘We no go through Communist position until all dark. Best at Starodanil where weak-minds from Karabats lying. They shit pants when dark comes. We come say: “Dam big NKVD check!” They frightened. People from Karabats always on wrong side. Deal with traitors and sell grifas.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ says Porta, expectanly.
‘Now I sleep!’ decides Vasilij, pulling his camouflage jacket up over his head. ‘Two o’clock you wake up. I lead you dangerous action. Big boom Moscow. Then you fuck me all ways, on foot, on ’orseback!’
Thirty seconds later he is snoring loudly.
‘Where the hell did that odd-ball come from?’ asks Barcelona wonderingly.
‘He ought to be liquidated,’ considers Heide, not troubling to conceal his disgust.
The Old Man unfolds a town plan of Moscow and begins to discuss our task with a Brandenburger Feldwebel.
‘Hals und Beinbruch!’5 says Oberst Hinka. He has come out to see us off.
‘Get back in one piece. Don’t let yourselves get captured in those Russian uniforms. You all know what they do to agents and raiders.’
‘When I was with 35 Panzer Regiment at Bamberg I had the job of carrying water to the married officers’ quarters,’ Porta is telling a story as we lie in the pre-action area. ‘We had a strict CO insisted that all officers parade with their companies for inspection, at 7 o’clock every morning. At 7:30 I started to deliver water to the first of the quarters, Leutnant Pütz, 3 Company. I’d usually finished shagging his wife by 8 o’clock, and moved on, with my water to Feldwebel Ernst’s quarters. His wife’d had as much as she could take by a little after 8.30. By 10.30 I’d had so much high-grade officer cunt I was near turning homo at the thought of more. But at 2 o’clock me and my little friend had to start our rounds again. That was when I had to beat the sofa for Major Linkowsky’s wife, who was a very religious woman. She and her husband were a temporary posting to us from 1 Cavalry at Königsberg. She told me every day that she never got anything at Königsberg but she was making up for it at Bamberg. It was in Bamberg I started to collect panties and this caused trouble when the Secret Police turned up looking for some larcenist or other. The snap-brim and leather coat boys ordered a general search, and turned up my collection, all with names on. The wives, of course, didn’t recognize any of them as theirs. But one of the snap-brims was an Obergefreiter who hated officers. They sent the whole collection to the Police Central Laboratories in Berlin and after the Alex-boys had had a long strong sniff at them the good ladies had had it. When our CO, Oberst Hackmeister, had spelled his way through the Reischkriminalpolizei report they say he shot straight up out of his boots and swallowed his monocle on the way. It ended up as a window-pane in his arse, and it required the attention of an Army glazier to get it out. All the officers who’d been cuck’d were given punishment postings to distant border regiments. Some wanted a divorce but Army Personnel forbade it. Officers should be able to maintain discipline in their own homes. If necessary, chastity belts could be supplied from QM stores.’
‘What about you?’ asks Barcelona inquisitively. ‘You couldn’t stay at Bamberg after all that!’
‘No, they sent me to Westphalia to 11 Panzer at Paderborn but I was never a water carrier again. I was turned into a machine-gunner in an experimental battalion. That wasn’t so bad, either, I oiled locks. We had a Hauptfeldwebel in 9 Company who collected pubic hair. He used to keep it in small boxes, with a photo of the scalped lady inside the lid.’
‘Shut it,’ orders the Old Man crossly. ‘We want to sleep. To hell with you and your Bamberg bitches!’
Three hours later an infantryman wakes us.
‘Whassa time?’ ask the Old Man sleepily.
‘Two-thirty, Herr Feldwebel,’ stammers the unhappy man.
‘You were supposed to call us at 2 o’clock,’ shouts the Old Man sharply, pulling on his boots.
‘You’ve been asleep on guard, soldier,’ states Heide, with the look of an avenging angel. ‘I’m booking you for neglect of duty. It can cost you your head!’ Heide loves executions.
Barcelona gets up slowly and stretches himself, so that his bones crack. The Brandenburger Feldwebel’s submachine-gun falls to the ground. Immediately a row starts.
We slip through the lines and march straight down into a Russian trench.
‘Captain Vasilij raves at the Russian lieutenant in real NKVD style, and threatens him with Kolyma.
It begins to blow. Snow drives into our faces in great clouds. I have a pebble in my boot. At first I try to forget it but this only makes me think about it all the time. It feels like a boulder. I sit down by a milestone and feel hard done by.
‘Qu’as tu?’ asks the Legionnaire irritably, bending over me.
‘Got a stone in my boot.’
‘Mille diables, is that all!’ he curses. ‘You ought to try Germersheim where you do morning drill with your boots filled with gravel.’
He helps me off with the boot. The stone is so tiny you wouldn’t believe it. Such a little thing to be so painful.
‘Tu es con,’ he jeers. ‘To cry over so little!’
At the Danilovskoye cemetery we take a rest after an exhausting march into the teeth of the storm.
Porta suggests shooting dice but nobody feels like it so he plays against himself and wins every time.
‘Soon make big bang,’ explains Vasilij, in high good humour, ‘but watch out for real NKVD devils. They catch, German turnip roll. War over!’
As we double over the broad Varshavskoe Street a long column of T-34s rolls past us, so closely that we can feel the warmth of the exhausts like a hot wind on our faces.
‘Why can’t we move along the river bank?’ asks the Old Man, crossly. ‘It’d be a lot quicker and we could move under cover of the warehouses.’
‘Nix karosch,’6 shouts Vasilij, grinning his big, shiny-toothed grin. ‘Dam dangerous part! Dumb German go there, big knife shave turnip in Ljubjanka. NKVD devils watch good. Big German General say Vasilij: “you show dam commando soldiers factory. They make boom!” Vasilij always do what general say. You no do what Vasilij say, Feldwebel, Vasilij trot off to big general, say you traitor! Hitler please with Vasilij, give big Order. People make big eyes when Vasilij home in Chita.’
‘I’m beginning to love that yellow monkey,’ grins Porta appreciatively.
‘Nip ’is ol’ nut off an’ you’ve got yourself a free pass into Paradise,’ considers Tiny. ‘I don’t reckon friend Abraham loves ’im much.’
‘I do not like him,’ says Heide, sulkily. ‘He’s not sincere.’
‘Do you really like anyone, apart from your Führer?’ asks Porta frigidly.
‘What do you mean by that?’ comes threateningly from Heide.
‘I mean you’d kiss old laced-up boots on the arse if you got the chance!’
‘Laced-up boots is insulting to the Führer,’ states Heide. ‘It is a disparaging reference to the Austrian people.’
‘Austrian people?’ asks Stege. ‘What’s that? It’s called Ostmark now!’
‘His Führer had to call it that to make himself a German citizen!’ grins Porta noisily.
‘That’s the worst I’ve heard yet,’ gasps Heide excitedly. ‘It’ll cost you your nut, boy, when my Duty Report gets to the NSFO!’
‘Let’s get on, Vasilij,’ the Old Man hurries him impatiently. ‘Let’s get that factory blown up and get back. I don’t like wandering about here like this!’
‘You reach dam shitty Zim factory soon enough,’ Vasilij assures him. ‘Kunfu say: “Better go quickly, come safe to goal.” We no Tekaui,7 reach Beijing8 next Sunday. We go big circle. Go straight way like you want and bom! bom! bom! dumb German turnip get hole in!’
‘All right then let�
�s go in a big circle,’ says the Old Man wearily, ‘as long as we reach the factory today and can be back early tomorrow morning. I don’t fancy this caper!’
‘You got shit in turnip? We no see factory before three days. We wait, all dark, send shitty factory up in sky. Today dam big guard wait us. NKVD know crazy German about. When we not come today, tomorrow, they think we no come at all! They think we go home.’
‘How the devil do you know what they’ll think?’ asks the Branderburger Feldwebel wonderingly.
‘Mongol man know many things. He know what crazy Commie pig think. I see spy bitch in German lines. When me back, dam prasstitutka9 get funny long rope round neck.’
‘Why in the world didn’t you report it immediately?’ asks the Legionnaire, not understanding.
‘Only idiot kill spy on spot,’ explains Vasilij, with a cunning expression in his shoe-button eyes. ‘Wise Mongol man from Harbin keep watch Commie bitch. She show us other spies, we blow hole in all one time. Very simple!’
‘Do you mean we’re going to be here in Moscow for several days?’ asks the Old Man, in a voice which clearly shows his misgivings.
‘Moscow nice city. People come dam long way see dam nice city!’
‘What a nice feller, he is to be sure,’ Porta laughs heartily. ‘If his countrymen are all like him, I’ll never go to China!’
‘Listen, Vasilij,’ says the Old Man, bending over the map of Moscow. ‘Why not go down Starodanil Boulevard and cross over towards the docks along the Moscow river?’
‘You crazy,’ grins Vasilij friendlily. ‘Mulkt sakt manna hail10 You get Commie bullet in Nazi gut and factory no go boom up to sky. Great Kunfu tell Vasilij: “Go NKVD, say Vasilij catch bad German Vasilij hero with big Soviet Order!” You go Starodanil Boulevard me no know you. Mongol man never so dumb as dumb white man think.’
‘Don’t hide his opinion of us very well, does he?’ grins Porta.
We hide in a little park which runs alongside the Boulevard whilst a large section of troops marches by.
‘What do you suggest then, Vasilij?’ asks the Old Man. ‘You’re in command.’
‘Njet, njet, tovaritsch Feldwebel, I no like have command. Him general say: “Vasilij you take commando soldier to power station. You bring survivors back to Hitler Army after make big boom.” Me shitty easy what you do. You say: “Vasilij go home.” We go back, no carry out orders. Vasilij tell NKVD devils all he know about action. Get Red Star on chest. Maybe too pardon from tjurjma.’11
‘What do you say, you yellow devil?’ shouts Porta, flying up. ‘Have you broken gaol?’
‘Da, da,’ Vasilij admits pleasantly as if it were the best joke in the world that an escaped convict was our guide in Moscow.
‘All clever plljudji12 put in cage. Big honour in Soviet paradise.’
‘Merde alors!’ cries the Legionnaire, visibly shaken. ‘Do you mean to say you’ve broken gaol and there’s a posse on your track?’
‘Da, da,’ grins Vasilij, quite unruffled. ‘That make me dam faithful guide for Nazis. Him general never ask: “You be in tjurjma?” My father, big wise Mongol, live in Chita. He say to eighteen sons: You never admit you strafnik if crazy pig no ask.” Him general ask: “Can you show way, Vasilij?” and I say: “Da, da!” Me say: “Njet,” me tell big lie.’
‘Bande des cons,’ groans the Legionnaire. ‘A wanted criminal leading the way. Allah have mercy on us!’
‘Be easy, soldier,’ consoles Vasilij. ‘Crazy cop no time look for strafnik leave gaol no say goodbye. Politsyja13 out get shot Hitler soldier. This good thing!’
‘What were you in for?’ asks Barcelona interestedly. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’
‘Vasilij good man. No do wicked thing. Only little thing. Cut throat dumb, shitty woman sleep with Mayor and sell Vasilij horse to Jew in Chita.’
‘Wife-murder!’ gasps Porta, ‘and that he calls a little thing! God knows what he’d call a big thing!’
‘Can we trust the little yellow ape at all?’ growls Heide suspiciously. ‘He doesn’t even attempt to hide that it’d be to his advantage to turn us in to the NKVD.’
‘Don’t be nervous, mon ami,’ the Legionnaire quiets him. ‘I know these little devils from Indochina. They came to us through the Gobi Desert. Some stayed a long while.
‘If they didn’t like it with us they just quietly went over to the enemy and changed uniforms. They are mad about their God. Most of them carry a small image of Buddha on their person. It’s forbidden in the Soviet. That’s why they hate the Reds and everything to do with them. If we don’t do what he wants he’ll turn us over to the NKVD or the Gestapo without a qualm. He’ll choose sides according to his own best advantage.
‘Chopping the head off an unfaithful wife is nothing to him.’ He turns to Vasilij and fires off a mouthful of Chinese.
Vasilij doubles up with laughter, pulls a kukhri! from his waistband and swings it proudly round his head.
‘I thought so,’ laughs the Legionnaire, convinced. ‘He’s been three years with the Ghurkas.’
‘And five years in the nick,’ notes Porta sarcastically. ‘How old is that little yellow orang-utan, anyway?’
‘Je ne sais pas,’ answers the Legionnaire with a shrug. ‘He probably doesn’t know himself. Most of them hardly seem to age at all after they reach twenty-five. Even when they’ve got to be a hundred they still look twenty-five. They use vegetable lotions on their skin, live almost exclusively on raw meat, and are eternally happy. They’ll still grin while you’re hanging them. As long as they have a Buddha image about them nothing else matters. Being punished for cutting the throat of an unfaithful wife is something he understands as little as if it had been a goat he’d slaughtered. The woman is a possession. Something he owns, like a piece of furniture or livestock.’
‘And this is the man we’ve got to entrust our lives to?’ moans Stege despairingly. ‘He’ll sell us out as soon as he gets the chance!’
‘His hatred of the Soviets will cause him to be faithful to us,’ continues the little Legionnaire confidently. ‘That hatred could send him a hundred times round the world on foot if need be.’
‘We’ve no choice at all,’ says the Old Man, shortly, and turns to Vasilij who is rolling a cigarette from a leaf of a German Bible.
‘What do you suggest?’ he asks. ‘We have agreed that you make the decisions.’
‘You clever man. Not so squarehead like other German,’ says Vasilij happily. ‘We make big swing, come nice old bridge, big tourist attraction. On other side river Tanganskaye Prison. There we find shitty old NKVD. They know all people afraid big political cage. Only crazy idiot willing go near.’
‘’E’s right enough about idiots an’ prisons, anyway,’ cries Tiny pleased.
‘NKVD man think same way,’ says Vasilij enthusiastically, throwing his arms out wide. ‘When funny Russians march by they think we guard on torpedo factory in Kozhukhovo so they no put out dirty big policeman hand and ask for propusk.14 I walk like big boss, salute like fine Soviet officer salute who want lick arse NKVD.’
‘What happens when we’ve got past the prison?’ asks the Old Man, worriedly, pulling his fur hood up over his head so that the large Red Star is hidden.
‘Then we march towards power station,’ explains Vasilij, as if he were sketching out a tour of the sights of Moscow. ‘We go down Dubrovsky Passage. Go past NKVD guard and take short-cut, over old train track and all that shit, to Ugrezhskaya Station. NKVD guard no see us. They sleep always. Me and good friend steal lorry with lot nice things there one time. NKVD find out what happen three days later. They sleep. Very dangerous street. They think nothing happen and most time they right. Only not when NKVD come bring friends.’ He bends forward, laughing loudly.
‘Why can’t we take the straight road down Simonovoslobodsk Street?’ asks the Old Man, irritated by Vasilij’s pidgin. ‘Ugrezhskaya Station is well out of our way.’
‘Vasilij think you clever man, tovaritsch Feldwebel! NKVD shitty big
factory down by Moscow river where make secret things. Straight way forbidden way, Nejmtsamat!15 Also forbidden see secret shit they make.’
‘What the devil do they make?’ asks the Brandenburger Feldwebel, interestedly.
‘Good friend of Vasilij from Chita, NKVD lieutenant, he tell Vasilij what Soviet make in secret factory.’
‘What the hell is it, then?’ asks Stege, impatiently.
‘Not good German turnips know too much,’ Vasilij brushes the question aside. ‘Only tell Nazi scientist. Him pay good. When war over, me share all with shitty NKVD lieutenant from Chita.’
‘I never could take to chaps who grin all the time,’ says Barcelona. ‘They’re false as Majorca pearls!’
‘We not go along Moscow river,’ continues Vasilij, untroubledly. ‘Many wicked NKVD. We come they shoot like hell. German soldier get filled Soviet lead. NKVD catch and torture so bad you glad when shaved with big knife in Ljubjanka. Better take long way round with Vasilij than lose hair and German turnip both.’
We aren’t far past the churchyard when we run straight into the arms of a three-man NKVD patrol. Their leader, a very young and very energetic corporal, with a battle-stripe, puts forward his hand in the international gesture of police all over the world – Let me see your papers!
The corporal addresses himself officiously to the Brandenburger Feldwebel who doesn’t understand a word.
Vasilij pushes him to one side, gives the corporal a friendly pat on the arm and hands him a Russian soldier’s identity book. A tank section rattles down the street, almost hidden in the driving snow.
The corporal rants at Vasilij, banging the book in his hand angrily. Something seems to be missing. Despite German thoroughness they have probably forgotten a rubber stamp somewhere. Two things the Russians and the Germans have in common; a superfluity of paper, and rubber stamps.
‘Job Tvojemadj!’ curses Vasilij, tapping his Captain Commissar’s red star.
‘Propusk comandatura,’ howls the corporal, beside himself.
