by Leo Kessler
‘You tell me, smartass,’ Meier said and launched a juicy, noisy kiss at a heavy-set woman bent over a wash-tub and revealing sturdy, muscular legs with plenty of white thigh above. ‘Get a load of those pins, Jap. I bet they go right up to her ass!’
‘So, if we’re walking and we need mules for transport to carry our gear,’ Jap went on purposefully, changing down to second as they entered Cherkassy’s main square, ‘you can guess where we’re heading for?’
‘Natch,’ Meier said casually, as the dust-covered Opel rolled to a stop in front of the Kommandatura.1 ‘Up there!’ He pointed a forefinger like a sausage at the white gleaming peaks of the far mountains. ‘Now come on, let’s see what these base stallions can do about finding us our four-legged friends.’
Later, the two of them, Ox-Jo and Jap, sat in the dusty square, drinking Airan, sour mare’s milk, which Ox-Jo had described aptly as smelling like a ‘mixture of cow shit and pig sweat,’ watching the barefoot boys and girls drag in the reluctant mules to the big, red-faced police NCO, who handed them a bundle of worthless Occupation roubles for the animals.
‘Look at ‘em, Jap,’ Ox-Jo said lazily, bored with Cherkassy, bored with the drink, bored with the war, pointing at the little brown mules. ‘Did you ever see a worse bunch of knock-kneed, knackered—’
He stopped suddenly. A woman had entered the square, as tall and majestic as a high priestess, leading a fine brown mule, advancing through the crowd of scruffy, barefoot boys and girls, as if they weren’t there. Meier took a quick gulp of the sour mare’s milk, as if his throat were suddenly parched, and gasped. ‘Get a load of the lungs on that one! Wow, she’s just my collar-size!’
‘And what about me?’ Jap protested.
But Meier was already on his big feet, sweeping the civilians aside to left and right as he descended upon the unsuspecting Russian woman. Taking off his peaked cap, with the silver badge of the Edelweiss on its side, and sweeping it in front of him in a low bow, he said happily: ‘My name is Meier. I am a senior NCO of the Greater German Wehrmacht, and I love you. Shall we go to bed now?’
Unlike the local women, this one was blonde and blue-eyed, with a fine chiselled nose. For a moment her handsome, determined face showed rage and disdain at the boldness of this importuning giant of a German, then for some reason she glanced at his cap, and her look changed to one of agreeable pleasantness. ‘You are very gallant, Sergeant-major,’ she said in surprisingly excellent German.
Meier’s big face flushed a deep red, and behind him Jap chuckled, ‘She’s gone and caught yer with yer skivvies down, Ox-Jo, eh?’
Meier, normally no respecter of persons, was definitely embarrassed now. ‘Excuse me, I didn’t know…I thought you wouldn’t understand…’
The big blonde woman smiled. ‘Soldiers will be soldiers, Sergeant-major. German as well as Russian, they want only two things of a woman — and the second one is food.’ And with that she swept by the crimson-faced NCO, leaving him standing there open-mouthed.
‘What’s the matter with you, you asparagus Tarzan?’ Jap asked, as the two of them sat on the stoop of the little cottage in which the Kommandatura had billeted them.
It was now evening, and the blood-red ball of the sun was beginning to slip down behind the mountains, tinting the snow-covered peaks with dramatic pink. The few civilians still about were hurrying back to their shabby homes before the curfew came into force. Any civilian found on the streets after nine o’clock was shot automatically, without trial. The Wehrmacht was too frightened of the Soviet partisans, reputed to be in the area, to take any chances.
‘It’s that Popov woman,’ Ox-Jo answered, dragging slowly at his cigarette. ‘I think I’ve fallen in love. At least my eggs are giving me jip.’
‘And what about me?’ Angrily Jap spat out his cigarette butt. ‘I haven’t had a bit for so long that I’m beginning to think those mules aren’t so bad-looking after all.’
‘Ah, but the difference between me and you is that I’m a senior NCO — and besides, you are half a foreigner, anyway,’ he added, alluding to Jap’s Sherpa father whose brief liaison with a Bavarian farm girl had resulted in the wrinkled, yellow-faced corporal, ‘and that sort of stuff is too good for a foreigner. Only us Germans qualify for that kind of lovely grub.’
Jap sniffed. ‘At any rate, you’ll have to keep it tied to yer right leg, this night. You don’t know where she lives, or whether she’d spread her pearly gates for you, even if you did. Besides, if the chain-dogs catch you after dark, they’ll have yer behind Swedish curtains before yer feet can hit the ground.’ He spread his dirty yellow fingers in front of his face to symbolize the prison bars.
‘A couple of ruptured, crappy old military policemen don’t frighten Mrs Meier’s son when he’s in love,’ Meier said contemptuously. ‘But I’ve got to know where she lives.’
‘What’s it worth to you?’
‘What do you mean — what’s it worth to me?’ Meier demanded, looking round at him curiously.
‘Well, I think I could help you, for a small — er — consideration.’
Meier held up a fist like a small pink ham. ‘Now, none of that, Jap. I know what you mean by a small consideration. You’re not getting any of that. I’ve told you already I love her — and you simply don’t share the woman you love, even with your best pal.’
Jap’s face fell. ‘Well, then, that’s that, I suppose,’ he said.
‘Now come, on, Jap,’ Meier wheedled, ‘you wouldn’t let a mate down like that? How do I find her?’
‘Is it worth three jumps to you the next time we get to some place where they have a Wehrmacht knocking-shop?’
‘Three jumps, Jap, that’s a lot of moss! Fifty marks at least.’
Jap shrugged eloquently. ‘Take it or leave it. Imagine what it’ll be like for me, while you’re there dipping your wick in all that honey. All that I’ll have to keep me happy is five against one and the old five-fingered widow is getting a bit boring, I can tell you that.’
Meier gave in. ‘All right. When you’re in love, you’re prepared to sacrifice anything for your beloved.’ He beamed at the little half-breed. ‘I read that in a book once,’ he announced proudly.
‘You shouldn’t have bothered,’ Jap said sourly. ‘For three jumps at the knocking shop, I’ll tell you. You see the Kommandantura,’ he began to explain, as if he were talking to a very small and very stupid child. ‘You go in there and down the corridor. To the right, you’ll find a little office, and in the little office, you’ll find a fat chain-dog with a red hooter, which he’ll explain to you is red because he’s got a bad cold, but which is in fact the result of too much indulgence in strong waters—’
‘Oh, get on with it,’ Meier interrupted impatiently. ‘My eggs are really acting up with all that love juice.’
Well, you say to the chap with the red hooter, discreetly passing him over a pack of twenty cancer-sticks as you do so, that you are looking for a long-lost maiden aunt, whom you will describe as being tall, blonde and having a well-endowed balcony—’
‘Of course!’ Meier blurted out exuberantly. ‘All these Popovs have to be registered with the local German bulls! That chain-dog will know where everybody in a little dump like this is located. Now why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Because you’re as thick as two oaken planks, that’s why. Now don’t forget—’
But Sergeant-major Meier was no longer listening; he was already running in the direction of the Kommandantura.
The woman was not surprised in the least when he came blundering through the door of her little cottage, without knocking, a packet of stolen Army sausage under one arm and a double litre bottle of black market vodka under the other, crying as he did so, ‘Food and drink — and me — for my beloved!’
Lazily she slid her legs from under her on the ricketty sofa, revealing a delicious glimpse of creamy white inner thigh and black silken panties as she did so. ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ she said in a thick throaty seduc
tive purr. ‘Take your clothes off.’
With one hand she released the single catch that held up her skirt. With the other she clicked off the light. In the sudden darkness, Sergeant-major Meier sighed in awe, as if he had just been informed he was to be admitted to Paradise.
Note
1. Town HQ.
SIX
‘Well, Haas?’ Colonel Stuermer snapped. ‘But please stand at ease.’
Lieutenant Haas, the Stormtroop’s newest officer, shot out the right foot of his immaculately polished mountain boots and flashed his C.O. a quick smile of thanks. ‘Well, sir,’ he said, waving his hand at the piles of equipment stored in the shed, ‘I’ve been through the lot three times. Boots, crampons, ice-axes — everything — and I am pretty sure we’ve got everything.’
‘Only pretty sure?’ Stuermer asked quietly. He liked the boy, whose father had been a celebrated Alpine Troop commander in Italy in the First World War; he didn’t want to play the typical heavy C.O. with him. Haas flushed.
‘You see, Haas, in an operation like this, complicated by the fact that we are also at war, one single oversight can spell disaster.’ He bent down to the pile of ropes and rummaged through them for a few moments, while the young officer watched him nervously. Finally he straightened up, a smile on his face. ‘I was just checking if you had included a Prusik sling. You know, if one of those big-footed mountain boys of mine fell into a crevasse we’d need the Prusik to get him out. I see you’ve got one. Good.’
Lieutenant Haas looked at his C.O.’s lean, sunburnt face with its sensitive chiselled mouth and the blue eyes which could be so cold, yet so compassionate, and was glad — in spite of his ever-present fear — that he was going into action for the first time under the command of such a man. ‘Thank you, sir. I really did make a careful inspection.’
‘Of course, you did. Now come along, Haas, let us break the happy news to the men.’
Happily the young officer followed his C.O. outside. The weather was brilliant and hot; all the same, the snow still gleamed on the far peaks. It would take more than this heat to melt the snow up there, Stuermer told himself, and returned the waiting Meier’s tremendous salute with a casual gesture. ‘I see you’ve got sentries posted, Sergeant-major,’ he said.
‘The Ivans have got big ears, sir,’ Ox-Jo replied. ‘Thought it better they didn’t hear anything which would give them earache.’
‘Good idea, Meier.’
‘I’m not just a pretty face, sir,’ Meier answered with a smirk. He tapped his temple. ‘There’s a brain up here as well.’
‘Some people will believe anything, I suppose, Meier,’ Stuermer said in high good humour and opened the door to the big barn in which he would give his briefing. With a crash of heavy, nailed boots on the wooden floor, which sent up a cloud of ancient dust, the men of Stormtroop Edelweiss stamped to attention.
Greul swung his commander an immaculate salute and bellowed at the top of his voice, as if he were back on some Prussian parade ground. ‘Stormtroop Edelweiss, two officers, sixteen NCOs and sixty men. All present and correct, sir!’
‘Thank you, Greul,’ Stuermer answered coldly, wishing that Greul would not attempt to play the new kind of brutal, aggressive National Socialist officer. He looked at the men’s faces. They were hard, bronzed and tough: the faces of the world’s best mountain troops, every one of them born and bred in the Bavarian Alps, where male children absorb mountain lore and skill with their mother’s milk. ‘Morning, soldiers!’ he said with forced cheerfulness, feeling again the awesome responsibility of attempting to ensure that these men returned one day to their mountain homes.
‘Morning, Colonel!’ they sang back in hearty unison.
‘Please sit down.’ Stuermer nodded to Greul, and as the soldiers squatted on the wooden floor, the major whipped away the blanket which covered the map attached to the wall.
Stuermer let his men have a good look at the big map before he commenced his briefing. ‘Comrades, we have been given a mission by the Corps Commander himself.’ He tapped the map. ‘Here Mount Elbrus is located — all five thousand, six hundred metres of it. We have been given the task of climbing it, not for any military purpose, but as a symbol of German superiority and heroism!’
While the barn buzzed with excited chatter, Stuermer could not help but look at Greul. But his irony had had no effect. The major’s face glowed with vulgar pride. Stuermer raised his hands to stop the chatter. ‘Now you must not think we’re off on some peacetime climbing jaunt.’ Again he tapped the map. ‘Before we even reach the foot of the mountain we will have to pass through some fifty kilometres of enemy territory. As far as we know, the Red Army has evacuated the area in its retreat into the Caucasus. But there are still the partisans to reckon with, and, according to Intelligence, the Karatski tribe located around the hamlet of Chursuk — here!’ He tapped the map. ‘By tradition they are bandits, and Moslems to boot. Therefore they were against the Reds, but that doesn’t mean automatically that they will be for us. And, again according to Intelligence, they have some pretty unpleasant habits with their prisoners.’
‘Oh, don’t tell me, sir, that I’m going to be a singing tenor if they get their paws on me!’ Meier squeaked in a falsetto voice, clutching the front of his baggy grey trousers to make his meaning perfectly clear.
‘Yes, something like that, Meier,’ Stuermer agreed, joining in the burst, of laughter which had greeted the Sergeant-major’s remark. ‘Though the thought shouldn’t worry you. The way you’ve been going at it these last few years, it’s bound to drop off of its own accord anyway, one day!’
His sally brought forth another burst of laughter. But it wasn’t shared by two men there: Greul, who was prudish to an extreme, and young Lieutenant Haas, whose face revealed all too plainly his sudden fear.
Stuermer’s face grew grave again as he continued. ‘Providing we have no trouble at Chursuk or before that, we’ll begin the real business of climbing once we are through the Chotyu Pass — here. It’s about three thousand metres above sea-level, and in spite of the good weather we’ve been having of late, we can assume there’ll be snow up there still. With a bit of luck, however, we’ll be able to reach. Elbrus House — here by the end of the first day.’
‘A house, sir?’ Jap queried.
‘Yes,’ Stuermer answered, seeing the puzzled look on the little half-breed’s yellow face. ‘Apparently the Russians had begun building it at the beginning of the war. Supposed to be covered with aluminium or some sort of alloy to make it proof against the kind of weather you can expect in winter at four thousand odd metres. It was intended as a weather station, but whether the Russians were able to complete it, we don’t know.’
‘Is it occupied, sir?’ Meier asked.
‘Again, we don’t know that, Meier. At all events we shall rest the second day and prepare for the ascent to the West Peak — here. At five thousand six hundred and thirty-three metres, it is the real summit. The other is a hundred metres lower.’
‘Look like a couple of tits,’ Meier said. ‘We should call it Twin-Tit Mountain. Imagine the headlines in Berlin, sir, once we’ve climbed it — Stormtroop Edelweiss Plants Swastika on Right Nipple of Twin Mountain.’
‘Sergeant-major Meier,’ Greul barked above the laughter, his lean face flushed with anger, ‘must you mouth such filth — and insult our flag, to boot?’
‘Just trying to cheer the chaps up, sir,’ Meier replied easily, unmoved by the major’s angry outburst.
‘Leave the cheering up of the chaps to me, please, Meier,’ Stuermer said quickly, and continued. ‘I’m not going to risk taking the whole unit up that peak. Once we’re in the house I’ll pick a good dozen of the fittest of you for the ascent. With luck, we should be able to be up and down in a day, though the ascent will be a matter of trial and error. Intelligence has been unable to turn up any Russian material on the difficulty of the climb and no one in the West has attempted it since the Russian revolution.’
‘Has
it ever been climbed at all?’ Haas asked curiously.
‘I don’t know. I should imagine that someone might have attempted it — the Russians have some excellent climbers, though we know little about their exploits — their Government never allowed them out of the country for an international climb.’ He smiled at the boy. ‘We’ll give you the honour of carrying the flag up the mountain, Haas. That’ll get you in the record books. If I recollect correctly, your father had a dozen eight thousands1 to his credit.’
‘Yessir, he did. And thank you — for the flag,’ Haas mumbled, a little red in the face.
His father, Haas thought as the Colonel continued his briefing. How he wished he could be like the giant old colonel, bluff, jovial and without one little bit of fear in his still muscular body! All his life the old colonel had sailed from one adventure to another, shrugging off the danger, supremely confident that nothing could go wrong. His father would never have understood the fears that had plagued him ever since the time the old colonel had taken him on his first ascent at the age of five, his stomach knotted and constricted in that nameless terrifying fear that he was to come to know so well in the years to come. He had learned to hide his fears; the old colonel would have never believed that a son of his could ever suffer from a dread that was completely unknown to him. But Lieutenant Haas knew well that one day, somehow and somewhere, he would not be able to conceal his fear — and then that would be the end for him.
‘But remember this,’ Colonel Stuermer was saying, ‘we are at war, though from the mission we have been given I have my doubts that the base stallions at the FHQ2 realize it. We will just have to keep one eye on the summit of Mount Elbrus, but at the same time we must also keep an eye to our rear.’ He looked around at the men’s faces, which were abruptly very serious. ‘Just in case some nasty Ivan decides to stick a knife in such a tempting, unguarded target.’
Lieutenant Haas shuddered. But no one, least of all the C.O., noticed: an oversight, which was going to have disastrous consequences for Stormtroop Edelweiss…
