SS General (10 page)

By straining our ears and quite shamelessly eavesdropping, we could just make out what was being said.

"Tell us the worst," challenged Heide. "They want us
to
press on alone and take Moscow single-handed?"

"Almost as bad," the Old Man told him. "It's that dirty great bunker in front of the steelworks. The one that's been causing all the trouble."

"What about it?"

"It's got to go."

Heide waited a moment before saying, "What do you mean, it's got to go? You mean we've got to get rid of it?"

"That's about the size of it," said the Old Man almost apologetically.

"What did I tell you?" Porta spat out at the rest of us.

"How?" Heide was coldly demanding. "How the hell are we supposed to get rid of a filthy great bunker?"

"You're to take your group up to it while we cover you with machine-gunfire. As soon as you reach the foot of the bunker, stuff as many grenades as possible through the loopholes, sit back and wait for it to go bang. You'll also have five magnetic charges for the doors. OK?"

From the look on Heide's face, we gathered that it was far from OK. We were inclined to agree with him.

"The doors?" he repeated stiffly.

"Yes, the doors--things that open and shut. All right?"

"No," said Heide. "It's not all right." He looked frostily at the Old Man. "I never heard such a crackpot idea in all my life! How the hell are we supposed to stuff grenades through the loopholes when they're about six feet above our heads? Give us some stepladders and we might have a go, but we're not goddamn acrobats!"

"Well, that's your problem," said the Old Man. "How you do it is entirely up to you. I'm just passing on the orders: get out there and blow up that bunker."

For a moment the two men stood glaring at each other, then Heide swore briefly, turned on his heel and came back to the rest of us. We knew there was nothing he could do, just as he knew that the Old Man would already have protested on our behalf at the futility of such an order.

"All right, 2nd Group, fall in behind me!"

Heide shouldered his submachine gun, jerked his head and set off without a backward glance, his lips pressed tight together. We snatched up our weapons and hurried after him along a track that had once been a road and was now a macabre confusion of derelict houses, burned-out motor vehicles and tanks, shell craters, piles of rubble and human remains. The corpses that lay everywhere were those of civilians, not soldiers. All of them were horribly mutilated. In a bucket of water floated the severed head of a child; the eyes still stared in sightless stupefaction toward heaven. I found myself stumbling on through the ruins with the image of that head bouncing before me, until I put a foot straight into the putrefying remains of a human torso and found other things to think about.

A few yards ahead of me, Porta suddenly stopped and shouted to Heide, "Hey! I've found the ideal spot!"

Heide looked around. "What the hell are you babbling about?"

I caught up with Porta and saw that he had discovered a shell hole partially covered with fallen timber and concrete.

"I can set up the machine gun," declared Porta, promptly doing so. "Just the right place for giving you the maximum cover."

"Oh no you don't!" screamed Heide, wheeling across to us. "Pick that damn thing up again and get a move on! I'm the one that's in charge! You stop when I say, and not before."

At that moment the bastards caught sight of us from the bunker and opened fire. Heide was blown on top of us as the blast caught him, and we fell into Porta's shell hole together.

"See what I mean?" said Porta. "It's the ideal spot."

Heide pulled himself up and straightened his battle-dress. "Two seconds to get out," he told Porta curtly. "You're not out by then and I report you."

"Do what you like," said Porta cheerfully. "I'm staying put."

"Sergeant!"

It was Captain Schwan's voice. We peered out and sawhim running toward us through the rising dust. Heide and I scrambled from the shell hole. Porta turned back to his machine gun.

"What are you waiting for?" panted Schwan.

Heide threw a black look at Porta and opened his mouth to complain, but he wasn't fast enough; Porta leaped in first. He saluted smartly and gestured at the machine gun. "All set up, sir, ready to give cover."

"Good man." Schwan nodded approvingly at Porta and turned to Heide. "Off you go then, Sergeant!"

Heide had no option. With rage and hatred in his eyes, he sprinted up the track, stumbling furiously over the rubble, too angry even to notice the screaming shells and bullets raining down on us from the bunker.

And since Heide had gone, we in turn had no option but to follow. I shot after him with Gregor and Ponz running unhappily at my side. Ponz was a naval gunner who had recently joined the company after a disastrous incident on the Don in which he had been his ship's sole survivor. He rolled his eyes despairingly at me as we raced along, surrounded by falling shells.

It was a question of reaching the bunker before its occupants found the range. I tripped over a pile of bricks, picked myself up, rushed on, fell again, stumbled to my feet. I felt as if all the breath had been squeezed out of my body. I had a sudden cramp in my side, needle-sharp pains plunged through my left lung, my heart battered desperately against my ribs and the blood pounded and thundered in my ears. I fell for the third time and lay sobbing in the snow, fighting for breath. We were almost at the bunker now. Just that final leap across . . .

A boot came crashing into my ribs. Mercilessly, again and again. A maniac voice yelled at me, "Get to your feet, you sniveling rat! Get up or I'll shoot you!"

"Leave me alone, I can't!" It was my own voice, screaming hysterically. I hardly recognized it.

Heide thrust the butt of his submachine gun against my ear.
"Get
up and jump or I'll kill you on the spot!"

Porta's machine gun went into action and the bullets sprayed out over the surface of the bunker, embedding themselves in the walls. Porta was great with a machine gun. You could rely on Porta.

I crouched, ready
to
spring. I didn't want to jump, I was scared rigid, I knew I'd never make it, the air was awash with bullets between us and the bunker. The only trouble was, I was even more scared of Heide. Heide was a fanatic, and a sadistic bastard into the bargain, and when he said he'd shoot, he meant it. On the other hand . . .

"Get going!"

He jabbed me in the kidneys with his sub. Sobbing with fear, I bunched my muscles together and launched myself into the bullet-ridden air. I was the first man over the ditch, but within a. second the others were with me. Ponz was by my side, with the pouch of grenades. He was making an odd snuffling noise. I glanced at him, my nerve suddenly restored, and realized that he was now in the state I had been in on the other side of the ditch.

"Do what you damn well like!" he whimpered at Heide. "My war's coming to an end right here in this ditch! Fuck the Fuhrer and fuck the Fatherland and fuck the pissing Reich!"

"And fuck the Navy, too!" roared Heide.

Amid a sea of bullets, the rattling of machine-gunfire and the bursting of shells, they stood and glared at each other. Staring up at the shattered walls of the steelworks, it slowly dawned on me what it would mean if the factory fell. This place was Stalin's pride and joy. With Red October gone, what would he have left?

I became suddenly aware that Heide had abandoned Ponz and gone bounding up the slope toward the bunker. This was perhaps the most dangerous moment yet. The slope was steep and snow-covered and crisscrossed by enemy fire. I watched Heide spring to safety at the foot of the bunker and crouch there exultantly. One of us, at least, had made it.

I turned to the shivering sailor. "You coming, or not?"

"Don't make me laugh!"

It was all he would say. I shrugged my shoulders and threw myself at the slope. Bullets zipped across my path and buried themselves all around me in the snow. I rolled panting into the shadow of the great bunker. Its massive concrete walls rose menacingly above us. Those inside must feel so safe, while we skirmishing figures outside were so minute and unprotected, so relatively powerless.

I pressed myself hard against the foot of the wall, seeking some temporary shelter.

"What's the matter with you?" jeered Heide. "Got the wind up?"

"I'm not the only one," I muttered. "Damn fool idea this was!"

Heide held out his hand. "Never mind that. Where are the grenades?"

"I don't know," I said. "It's not my job to carry them. I'm not a goddamn packhorse."

"Who the hell's got them then?"

I suddenly remembered. "He has." I pointed back down the slope, to where Ponz was still cowering in the ditch. "He's got them."

"You mean you came up here without any grenades?" Heide stared at me aghast.

"You mean you did," I retorted.

"It's not my job to carry grenades!"

"And it's not mine, either! They were given to him, it's up to him to bring them!"

"To hell with that!" shouted Heide in a frenzy. He grabbed me by the collar and shook me. "You go right back down there and get them! What the hell are we supposed to do up here without any grenades?"

I tore myself away. "Let someone else fetch them!"

"I said you!" bellowed Heide. "You're the best man we've got with a grenade, and I'm ordering you to go down there and get them!"

"And I'm telling you to go screw yourself!" I bellowed back. I waved a hand in the direction of the terrified sailor. "Why can't he bring them up here? I'm not risking my neck going all the way down there and back again. You must be out of your mind!"

Heide gave me a look of maniacal hatred, then turned abruptly and shouted down at Ponz. "Hey! You there! Ponce, or whatever your name is--get a move on out of that hole!"

As the sailor simply withdrew farther into the protection of the ditch, Heide opened fire. The effect was instantaneous. With one bound, the man was up the hill and at our side. Without the grenades; in his anguish, he had abandoned them in the ditch! With a howl of rage, Heide lashed out with his foot and sent the man rolling back down the slope.

"You get those grenades up here on the double!"

Ponz lay cowering and whining in the ditch. "You fired at me! You could have killed me."

"That was my intention! I'm sorry I missed, I'll try again."

Gregor and the Legionnaire had crept around to join us. Ponz gave a wild shriek as Heide opened fire, and came skittering up the hill with tears rolling down his cheeks and the pouch of grenades bumping at his side. We snatched them from him and began feverishly to concoct our own brand of homemade bombs: a clutch of four grenades secured to a bottle filled with gasoline.

"OK, Sven." Heide pointed to the nearest loophole, which looked to be about five miles above my head. "I'll cover you while you chuck it in."

"What, me?" I said aghast.

"I said you, didn't I?"

"Yes, but how the hell can I?"

"Don't ask me," said Heide indifferently. "I didn't think up the idea, I only have to make sure it's carried out."

I stared up at the loophole, a good ten or eleven feet above the ground.

"You're the expert," said Gregor. "You've always been a wow with grenades."

I glared at him venomously. Heide jerked his head at me, and unwillingly I moved out into the open. A machine gunner posted high up behind one of the factory walls at once began plastering me with bullets. The air around me buzzed like a swarm of lusting wasps. I took aim, opening my chest wide to the enemy fire, drew back my arm and flung the grenades up toward the loophole. There was not sufficient strength behind my arm. The angle was wrong. The bomb crashed into the wall a couple of feet below the loophole and bounced down to the ground at our feet. I was scarcely aware of Heide hurling himself at me, knocking me off balance and into safety as the thing exploded. My arm was wrenched almost off my body by the force of the blast. I was quite hopeful for a moment, but when I felt it, it appeared still to be attached.

"Idiot!" snarled Heide. "They've spotted us now!"

I sat resentfully on the ground, massaging my shoulder.

Heide kicked at me with his boot. "Up!" He gestured at me. "Only one thing for it. You'll have to stand on my shoulders and stuff the thing through the hole that way."

I stared up at him, horrified. Heide was mad. Stark raving mad. I had always half suspected it.

"Come on!" He snapped his fingers at me as if I were a well-trained dog. "Let's get the thing over with."

Beyond the shadow of the bunker wall the fury was still raging. Despite Porta's ceaselessly accurate machine-gunfire, the Russian guns were still in action.

"Look," I said, trying to be reasonable with the demonic Heide, "I think someone else ought to have a go. My arm's been almost torn off my body, and I don't . . ."

"Liar!" Heide gripped me by my injured shoulder and hauled me to my feet. Tongues of red-hot fire raced down the right side of my body. Heide slapped me this way and that across the face until I felt dizzy, and then he stepped back and clasped his hands together. "Right! Shove your foot in there and get up."

I had no alternative. There never was any alternative in this godawful war. Heide was far stronger than I, he would kill me without a moment's hesitation if I again refused to obey his orders. And no one would blame him. I looked around hopelessly at the others. Ponz was sniveling against the wall, Gregor was glaring aggressively at me. Only the Legionnaire gave me a faint wink and grin of encouragement.

I swallowed some bitter-tasting liquid that had come into my mouth, placed my foot in Heide's hands and swung myself up onto his shoulders. Gregor passed up the grenades. Heide took a few paces backward into the enemy fire and I stretched up toward the loophole. But as I stuffed the grenades inside, the butt of a rifle appeared and bolted them out again. I lost my balance, grabbed at Heide's head, collapsed completely and brought him down with me. Together we rolled, in a flurry of snow, right down the slope to the ditch.