Doom Platoon

by Levinson, Len

  “You ugly dogface son of a bitch!”

  “You sissy paratrooper cocksucker!”

  They sat in the snow glaring at each other through the darkness. Then Mazursky perked up his ears.

  “I hear something,” he said.

  “I hear it too.”

  It was a faint droning sound coming from far away in the east. They sat and listened, and the sound grew louder.

  “It’s our Air Corps,” Dexter said, a smile on his face.

  “Too bad you couldn’t be up in one of those planes, so you could jump out.”

  “If I did, I’d hope I’d land feet first on your big fat head.”

  Then came the rumbling of anti-aircraft fire. Lights flashed on the horizon. The droning became louder and then they saw the planes coming like an immense swarm of locusts against the night sky. Mazursky and Dexter stood and look up as the air armada passed overhead.

  “I bet that air field takes another pounding tonight,” Mazursky said.

  “I think all of Germany’s gonna take a pounding tonight.”

  The planes passed out of sight on the horizon, and the droning sound became fainter. Then the rumbling of exploding bombs could be heard, and the horizon to the east flashed and flickered.

  Dexter picked up his submachine gun. “I think we’d better get going.”

  Mazursky grunted assent, and they started walking toward the west, where the planes had come from. They climbed a hill, came down the other side, and were in a thick pine forest when Dexter stopped suddenly.

  “I don’t feel so good,” he said.

  “What’s the matter.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Oh, you fucking asshole.”

  Mazursky walked away and looked toward the east, where he could hear the sounds of the planes getting louder again. Behind him he could hear Dexter retching. He turned around. “What’s the matter, Dexter? Cat meat don’t agree with you?”

  Dexter clutched his guts and puked the reddish gunk onto the snow. Tears ran down his cheeks and his whole body shivered in the moonlight. Mazursky looked away and shook his head. “Fucking asshole,” he muttered.

  Dexter had the dry heaves for a while, and he leaned against a tree, feeling weak and dizzy. “I think I’ll have to lie down for awhile,” he said.

  “I told you not to eat that cat.”

  “I thought it was a good idea to eat some meat.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a paratrooper. You don’t know how to think and you shouldn’t try.”

  “Give me a break, will you Mazursky?”

  “Of all the guys to team up with, I had to team up with you. A fucking paratrooper who likes to eat cats.”

  “Don’t say that word again. It’ll make me

  throw up.”

  “What word? You mean cat?”

  Dexter went into the dry heaves again. “You bastard,” he moaned, drooling onto the snow.

  “Okay, I won’t say cat anymore.”

  Dexter kept dry heaving, then he sat at the base of a tree and leaned against the trunk. “I think I’m going to die,” he said.

  “Anybody who eats a raw cat deserves to die.”

  “Maybe we’d better stop here for the night.”

  ’You’re slowing me down, paratrooper.”

  “Then maybe you’d better go on without me.”

  “Naw, I’ll stick with you. I don’t think you could make it alone.”

  “You cocksucker.”

  “What did that cat taste like anyway?”

  Dexter started dry heaving again. Mazursky cleared away the snow at the base of a tree and sat down. He was happy for the opportunity to take a rest, for he was fatigued and weak from hunger, but he didn’t want Dexter to think that he needed a rest, because he wanted to out-macho Dexter, since Dexter was a hated paratrooper.

  After a while Dexter stopped dry heaving. He washed his face and growth of beard with snow, ate some to clean out his mouth, and then cleared away some snow underneath a spruce tree, lay down, and closed his eyes. Despite the cold, he fell asleep almost instantly.

  Mazursky was too tired to clear away any more snow. He couldn’t even bring himself to move. Hugging himself with his arms for additional warmth, he closed his eyes and soon was asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  The percussive sound of axe against tree echoed through the woods. Mazursky opened his eyes. It was a sunny morning. He looked at his watch; it was 0830 hours. The sound of the axe didn’t appear too far away. He felt floaty from lack of food and there was a cramp in his empty stomach.

  “You up, Mazursky?” Dexter asked, lying in the snow and looking at him with baleful eyes.

  “You can see, can’t you?”

  “It sounds like somebody’s chopping down a tree.”

  “I know. Maybe whoever it is has some food with him. Let’s go find out.”

  Both men got up, brushed snow off themselves, and ate some snow for breakfast. Dexter worked the bolt of his submachine gun, took out the clip of ammunition, and replaced it.

  “I’m ready to go,” Dexter said.

  “It sounds like it’s coming from over there.” Mazursky pointed.

  They walked through the woods toward the sound, pushing branches out of their way, breathing hard from their slight exertions. Mazursky saw spots before his eyes and his legs felt like rubber. His stomach felt like the Grand Canyon.

  “How’re you feeling this morning?” he asked Dexter.

  “Much better,” Dexter lied. “How about you?”

  “Terrific.”

  “You look like death warmed over.”

  “So do you, you paratrooper bastard.”

  They made their way through the woods, and the chopping grew louder. Then through the branches and underbrush they saw two figures and a horse. One of the figures was wielding the axe and chopping down a spruce tree about eight feet high. Mazursky and Dexter crouched behind a bush and watched.

  “I think we should rush them,” Mazursky said.

  “I think you’re right. Maybe we should creep a little closer, so we won’t have to run so far.”

  “Good idea, and don’t fire unless you have to; we don’t want to attract any attention.”

  They crept around the bush and moved toward the two figures and the horse in the clearing. They were on their stomachs, gulping for air, nearly fainting, both nearly white as the snow, their eyes sunken into their heads. The spruce tree fell down, and the two figures proceeded to affix it to a harness that trailed behind the horse.

  Suddenly Mazursky and Dexter stopped, their eyes goggling.

  “They’re women!” Mazursky hissed between his teeth.

  Dexter’s jaw dropped open, for they were indeed women wearing long woolen dresses and thick mackinaws, with babushkas on their heads and boots on their feet.

  “Pussy,” Dexter whispered.

  “They’re getting ready to go. We’d better make our move now.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Up and at ‘em!”

  The two weakened and woozy sergeants came up from behind the bush and charged the two women in the clearing, who first looked at them in surprise, and then terror as they saw the submachine gun in Dexter’s hand. Their faces drained of color, they looked at each other fearfully, and began to tremble. They were around forty years old, and they held each other’s hands as Mazursky and Dexter stopped in front of them.

  One of the women said something in German; it sounded as though she were begging.

  Mazursky looked at Dexter. “You know how to say food in German?”

  Dexter shook his head. “I can’t say a fucking word in German.”

  One of the women attempted to smile. “You are Americans?” she asked in German-accented English.

  “Yes,” said Mazursky and Dexter in unison, astonished.

  “You are soldiers?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman looked at the other woman. “I had no idea the Americans were th
is close.”

  The other woman shrugged. “You never know what to believe these days,” she said in accented English.

  “The Americans aren’t this close,” Mazursky said. “We’ve escaped from the prisoner of war camp in Schwanditz. How come both of you speak English?”

  “We both studied English at the University of Heidelberg. May we introduce ourselves?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I am the Baroness Helga Von Kanzow, and this is my cousin, the Countess Lilli von Bit-burg.”

  Mazursky and Dexter looked them over. The Baroness had blue eyes and thin lips, while the Countess had brown eyes and more sensuous lips. They didn’t look too bad, particularly after six months on the front lines.

  “I am Sergeant Michael Mazursky of the 25th United States Infantry Regiment,” Mazursky said, removing his helmet and bowing slightly, which he felt was appropriate in the presence of royalty.

  “I am Sergeant Bull Moose Dexter of 125th Airborne,” Dexter added. “Do you have any food with you by any chance?”

  ‘Food?” said the Baroness, who was somewhat taller than the Countess. “We don’t have any with us, but we have some back at the manor. Are you hungry?”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Dexter.

  “Who else lives back at the manor?” Mazursky asked.

  “No one. We live alone.”

  “Then where is the Baron and the Count?”

  “They are on the Eastern Front, and all our servants have been conscripted into the Army. My cousin and I are all alone.”

  Dexter brandished his submachine gun. “Lady, we’re desperate men. The SS is looking for us right now. If you’re lying, I’ll kill you without even thinking about it.”

  The Baroness looked insulted. “Why should I lie to you?”

  “Because you’re Germans, and we’re Americans, and our countries are at war.”

  “I have signed no declaration of war. I am not mad at anybody,” said the Baroness.

  “Nor am I,” said the Countess.

  “This was has been a terrible inconvenience for us,” said the Baroness. “That Adolf Hitler is a little Austrian madman and I can’t understand how he ever got as far as he did.”

  “This is the first Christmas in my life,” the Countess said, “where there have been no men around to chop down our Christmas tree.”

  Mazursky and Dexter looked at each other.

  “This is Christmas?” Mazursky asked.

  The Baroness shook her head. “Tomorrow is Christmas. Tonight is Christmas Eve. We must put the tree up tonight. Would you be so kind as to help us?”

  “Sure,” said Dexter, “if you would be so kind as to feed us.”

  The Baroness raised her nose in the air. “We do not let guests go hungry, Sergeant, although I’m afraid our cuisine is not as distinguished as it has been in the past.”

  Dexter jiggled his submachine gun again. “It wouldn’t be very healthy for you ladies if you tried to fool us, or betray us to the SS.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “The SS? Those homosexuals and sadists? People like my cousin and myself don’t have anything to do with people like that.”

  “I should say not!” the Countess added emphatically. “The very idea!”

  “They have no dignity, no breeding.”

  “They are scum.”

  “The lowest of the low.”

  “A conglomeration of sex perverts.”

  Mazursky finished hitching up the Christmas tree to the harness, they began to move through the forest. Mazursky and Dexter were suspicious, ready to fight and run at any moment. But they were willing to take chances, because they were close to starvation.

  The Baroness was talking to the Countess. “I rather like the idea of entertaining these Americans,” she said. “It reminds me of stories I heard about the First World War, when our pilots would entertain enemy pilots they’d shot down, and vice versa. That was the last war where there was any sense of chivalry.”

  “Yes,” said the Countess, “war used to be the domain of gentlemen, but now everybody is being positively beastly.”

  They came to the edge of the woods, and stretching below was a meadow and the manor house, a three-story stone building in the shape of a crescent. Farm buildings were nearby, as were landscaped trees. A driveway in front of the house led away through woods.

  “How far away is the main road?” Mazursky asked.

  “Two miles,” said the Baroness.

  “You’re sort of isolated from the world here.”

  “No one ever comes here. It gets rather lonely at times. It will be a pleasure to entertain you gentlemen.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say, ma’am, but Dexter and me aren’t gentlemen. We’re just ordinary soldiers.”

  “You both are noble fighting men, true warriors, gladiators if you will. Such men as you are gentlemen regardless of where you were born, for you have distinguished yourselves on the field of battle.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Only extraordinary men could have escaped from a prisoner of war camp, and besides, a callous type of human being would have killed my cousin and me just because we were Germans, but you didn’t. You took pity on us because we were women. You had the depth of soul to see that people like you and people like me are above the stupidity of this war.”

  They walked down the meadow to the barn, Dexter leading the horse by its harness and talking to the Countess, who laughed with a lilting soprano voice at his jokes. In the barn, they hitched the horse in his stall. In the next stall mooed a cow, and all the other stalls were empty.

  “The Army took away our other cows,” said the Baroness. “They only left us this one, and some chickens and pigs. If the war isn’t over soon, we won’t have anything to eat.”

  “It’ll be over soon,” Mazursky said. “The Allies will be here before long.”

  “I certainly hope so. Now if you gentlemen will carry the tree, we’ll go to the manor and get something to eat.”

  Mazursky picked up the trunk and Dexter took the top of the tree. It wasn’t a very big tree, but they were pretty weak by this time, and they stumbled behind the baroness and countess as they led the way across the back yard to the rear door of the manor.

  They found themselves, in an enormous kitchen with a large black cast iron stove and a table with a bench on either side.

  “We spend most of our time in the kitchen because we try to conserve fuel,” the Baroness said, removing her babushka and revealing golden hair that fell to her shoulders.

  The Countess looked at her. “But now that we have gentlemen guests, perhaps we can have our dinner meal in the dining room.” The Countess removed her babushka, and she had wavy brunette hair that gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the large windows.

  “I think that’s a marvelous idea,” said the Baroness.

  The ladies removed their mackinaws and hung them near the door. Underneath they wore blouses that showed well-developed bosoms. Mazursky and Dexter would have gotten horny were they not so hungry.

  “They look awfully hungry,” said the Countess. “What should we feed them?”

  “I don’t know.” The Baroness looked at the two bleary-eyed soldiers. “What would you like, gentlemen?”

  “Whatever is fastest,” Mazursky replied immediately.

  “Oh dear me they must be starving,” said the Baroness. “Why don’t you give them some bread, while I slice some ham.”

  The Countess opened the breadbox, took out a loaf of bread, unwrapped it, and placed it before Mazursky and Dexter, who started tearing it apart and stuffing it into their mouths before she could get the butter. Plates and silverware were placed on the table, along with a huge ham, a pitcher of milk, and some cold potatoes that had been boiled the night before.

  “I’d warm all this up for you, gentlemen, but I don’t think you’d want to wait,” said the Baroness.

  “We wouldn’t,” said Mazursky through a mouth full of ham, bread, po
tatoes, and milk.

  Gradually their hunger subsided, and they were able to eat more leisurely. The ladies made coffee and sat with them.

  “This tastes like real coffee,” Dexter said, sipping from a cup made of fine china.

  “It is,” the Baroness said proudly. “My husband filled the larder with many items he thought would get scarce, and then he left for war.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “Last Easter he got a furlough.”

  “It’s been almost a year, then.”

  The Baroness looked sad. “Yes.”

  “What does he do in the Army?”

  “He is a Colonel on the staff of General Von Katoffle.”

  “My husband,” said Lilli, “is a colonel in the Quartermaster Corps. I haven’t seen him since Easter either.”

  Dexter chortled. “I wonder what they’d both think if they saw you here having coffee with a couple of American soldiers.”

  The Baroness smiled. “I’m sure they’d join you and offer you cigars.”

  “Cigars?” asked Mazursky. “You have cigars?”

  “Certainly. My husband always keeps a private stock of cigars in the house. Would you like one?”

  “That’d be terrific.”

  “Excuse me,” she said, getting up from the bench and walking out of the kitchen.

  Mazursky ate another piece of ham and wondered if she was calling the SS. Dexter looked at him suspiciously, evidently thinking the same thing. She returned a few minutes later with a mahogany cigar humidor. Setting it on the table, she opened the lid. Inside were claro and maduro cigars of various shapes.

  “Help yourselves, gentlemen,” the Baroness said.

  Mazursky selected a black nasty-looking cigar that had the shape of a football. He put it in his mouth and lit it with his trusty old Zippo. The smoke filled his mouth with rich heady aroma. He leaned back and puffed away, reflecting on the peculiar ups and downs that a human life could take. He also reflected that the Baroness and Countess were good-looking old broads. Dexter likewise was puffing a cigar, wondering how he could get into the Countess’s pants.