Authors: Leo Kessler
`But
why sacrifice such an ideal observation post, sir,' Schwarz asked.
The
Vulture smiled maliciously.
`I
think you gentlemen are getting a little soft in the upper storey here on Peak 555. Perhaps it is the mountain air and not enough exercise, eh? Can't you see? If the Amis destroy the "seminal force of Christian civilization in Central Italy", as I believed Baedeker calls the dump - '
`They
will be branded as cultural barbarians,' von Dodenburg cut in.
`Yes,
von Dodenburg. The destruction of the Cassino Monastery will indicate that the Amis have little regard for our European treasures. The neutral press will have a field day - not to mention our own dear little cripple.'
Even
the malicious reference to Dr Josef Goebbels, head of the Reich's Propaganda Ministry, did not spoil their spontaneous enthusiasm as they realized the full subtlety of the Führer's plan.
`Holy
straw sack, sir,' young blond-headed Bauer, a new officer in von Dodenburg's battalion, cried. 'How devilishly smart! Only our Führer could think up something like that!'
`Yes,
only
our
Führer,' the Vulture agreed.
But
in their eagerness to know more, the young officers of the Wotan did not notice his cynicism.
`But
how are we going to do it, sir?' someone asked.
`Smiling
Albert has given me full instructions,' the Vulture replied. 'He anticipates an Ami withdrawal across the Rapido this evening. The local commander does not believe they will be able to hold out on this bank much longer. As a result, we feel what will happen this evening will provide an excellent cover for the action which the C-in-C thinks will provoke the Amis into an instant reaction - hopefully the destruction of the Monastery.'
`And
the action, sir?' von Dodenburg asked.
`A
raid in force behind the Ami lines, one which will make them howl with rage, which will demand a reaction from them on account of its sheer effrontery. Smiling Albert wants us to get the Amis by the tail and twist it until their eyes begin to pop. I don't know exactly how. It would depend upon the man on the spot. All I can say is that the C-in-C wants us to hit the enemy hard and hit him where it hurts the most - beneath the belt.' He looked at them challengingly. 'Gentlemen, I think I need to say no more. It is obvious why we have been honoured with the job, isn't it? Because the Regular Army regards Wotan as the only unit on this front capable of dirty work of that nature.' He smiled thinly. 'After all, we do have a certain reputation. Now may I ask for volunteers?'
Before
Schwarz had clicked his heels together and stepped forward, von Dodenburg had raised his finger.
`I,
Colonel,' he said coldly.
`Does
that gesture mean you want to take a leak, von Dodenburg?' the Vulture sneered.
The
CO of the Wotan's Panzer Grenadiers ignored the insult.
`I
shall take a half company,' he announced, as if the matter were already decided. 'Volunteers naturally.'
`What
about me, Kuno?' Schwarz asked plaintively, his voice heavy with disappointment.
`No
not you,' von Dodenburg said determinedly. He pointed a finger at the Creeper. 'I want him.'
`What
me?' the Creeper quavered, his eyes full of sudden fear. ‘But I'm only an observer here with Wotan.'
Von
Dodenburg laughed humourlessly.
`Perhaps
I need an observer, Lieutenant,' he said. 'You'll come along. I want to find out what you're made of.'
`Schulze –
now
,' von Dodenburg hissed urgently.
Schulze
doubled forward, crouched low. The GI sentry never knew what hit him. Schulze reached up and pulled hard. The sentry's helmet slid backwards. With a deep grunt, Schulze grabbed the helmet thrusting his knee into the small of the Ami's back. Then he pulled with all his strength. Writhing desperately, his frantic fingers fighting to relieve the awful pressure, the young American was garrotted to death, as his chin strap bit deeper and deeper into his neck. Schulze lowered him gently.
`All
clear,' he gasped and let the limp body slide down into the thick mud of the river bank. 'Come on.'
The
volunteers slipped out of the bushes in which they had hidden themselves. Automatically, they began to strip. Now all was silent again save for the steady rumble of the heavies in the background and the urgent sound of their own breathing.
`Follow
me,' snapped von Dodenburg, clad only in his underpants now. 'You, Kriecher, keep close to me.'
‘B
ut I've never done a river crossing at night before, Major,' the Creeper quavered, his body a fat amorphous blob in the faint pink glow of the Italian hamlet still burning to the Ami rear.
`Well,
this is as good a time as any to learn,' replied von Dodenburg unsympathetically, slipping into the icy water, his gear wrapped in a groundsheet pushed in front of him.
`Come
on. Heaven, arse and twine, man - the water won't bite you!'
Grumbling
loudly, the Lieutenant hesitated until Schulze pretended to stumble against him. He fell with a startled yell full-length into the water. Despite himself he began to strike out for the opposite bank. The crossing of the Rapido after the retreating Amis was underway.
Just
as the first wave of Wotan men reached the opposite side, a flare shot into the air. For what seemed an age, it hung there bathing their naked bodies in its unreal, icy light. Then it sank to the ground with a soft hiss.
`Phew,'
Schulze sighed with relief, 'I thought they had us there by the pisser!'
Von
Dodenburg hid his own relief.
`You
must be getting soft, Schulze. When Colonel Geier plans an operation, nothing like that can happen. He doesn't slip up. Perhaps it's that Ami holiday when they shoot off fireworks or something,' he added, slipping quickly into his wet clothes.
`Sure,'
Schulze said sourly, following his example. 'Colonel Geier and his operations! If you ask me, this is a certain one-way ticket to the little fat-arsed boys with the wings on. A real old Ascension Day commando.' (1)
`Knock
it off, Schulze,' snapped von Dodenburg, unslinging his Schmeisser and cocking it hastily. 'Let's move out.'
Yet,
as his fifty-man patrol began to move cautiously towards the burning village a couple of kilometres away, he realized suddenly that by volunteering to lead the raid he had put himself exactly where the Vulture - if the latter knew by now his reaction to Schellenberg's offer - would want him to be: deep in the thickest shit. Hurriedly he dismissed the disquieting thought, and concentrated on moving in on the Italian village.
It
was clear that the Amis were moving back in disorder. As they came into the village they could see the American tank destroyer abandoned in the middle of the road, one track stretched out behind it like a snapped limb. Beyond it was an abandoned truck, its windshield smashed into a glass spider's web. In their haste the Amis had even left the vehicle's engine running. Now the motor throbbed on uselessly, while the dead driver slumped over the wheel. Gently von Dodenburg pushed him to one side and turned off the engine.
`Young
soldiers,' he said softly to Schulze, following close behind him, a sack of stick grenades around his neck. Schulze nodded.
`Easy
meat, sir,' he agreed. 'What's the drill?'
Von
Dodenburg grinned despite the unease nagging at him.
`The
easiest, you big Hamburg clown. We'll go straight in, as if we belonged.
You
,' he swung round on the Creeper, who crouched, Schmeisser at the ready, as if the whole of the US Army were about to descend upon him personally at any moment. `Kriecher, I mean you.'
With
an effort of will the Creeper pulled himself together.
`Yes,
Major?'
`I
want you to cover us. If you hear anyone firing but ourselves, bring up the rest of the patrol through that side street there.'
‘B
ut how will I know the sound of the Ami weapons?' the strange SS officer asked miserably.
`Ami
lead whistles "Yankee-Doodle-Dandy",' Schulze said in disgust and pushed by the cowering officer.
The
village square, illuminated a blood-red by the flames of the burning houses, was packed with Amis. They were obviously beat, squatting on the kerbs, heads sunk between their knees, too worn and dejected to take one of the C-ration cans that a small group was heating in the flames. A big sergeant, who looked as if he hadn't shaved for days, was drinking out of a bottle of what looked like
grappa
, most of the fiery liquid running down his chin and soaking his shirt.
Keeping
his eyes on them carefully, von Dodenburg used the traditional army hand signals to get his men into position; and like the trained killers they were, they glided noiselessly to left and right through the shadows into their designated spots.
`
Mary
,
Jesus
,
Joseph
!
'
one of the Tyrolean boys behind von Dodenburg whispered in awe. 'It's too easy ... too easy, like shooting tame pigeons.'
`And
you'll be a shitting dead pigeon in a minute if you don't hold your water,' Schulze cursed, reaching in his bag to pull out one of the stick grenades. 'Ready, sir!'
`Good.'
Von Dodenburg raised his Schmeisser and tapped the long magazine to check if it were attached firmly. 'When I fire, let them have the first grenade - right in the centre of the square!'
Von
Dodenburg raised the machine-pistol and swung it round looking for his first target. The thin barrel swung by two pale-faced boys dressed in long black raincoats, past an officer who had obviously torn at his badges of rank, as if in despair, and failed to pull them off, through a crowd of broad faces, innocent, von Dodenburg told himself, in a way that could be only American, and came to rest on the unshaven face of the drunken sergeant. For what seemed a long time von Dodenburg studied the face of the man he was going to kill. It was a good, tough face: the face of a man who had been let down and had become cynical, knowing that everyone could be bought some way or other. Suddenly he realized where he had seen that face before. With a sudden burst of rage, he pulled the trigger of his Schmeisser savagely.
The
weapon chattered angrily. A stream of tracer shot through the air. The big NCO screamed, high and hysterical, like a woman. The bottle of
grappa
fell from his nerveless fingers to shatter on the cobbles. The face that had looked so like Wagner's became a pulp. What was left of his head struck the ground first.
The
next instant the men posted all around the square opened up. Suddenly all was frenzied activity - screams, panic-stricken orders and counter-orders. The survivors of the 36th Division scattered desperately. But there was no shelter for them. A group of men who had been cooking over the flames pelted crazily for a lane. Schulze grunted and lobbed a grenade in their direction. It landed squarely in the centre of them. They went down screaming.
A
hefty sergeant with shoulders bent forward like a footballer's, rushed at the unknown assailants, firing his tommy-gun from the hip. Von Dodenburg let him have a swift burst in the stomach. He careened round, still firing, spraying the sky with his slugs.
One
of the boys in the long black raincoats tore towards the abandoned half-track. Von Dodenburg guessed instantly what he was intending. He pressed the trigger of his Schmeisser. Nothing happened.
`Great
crap on the Christmas Tree!' he cursed bitterly and looked down. He had a stoppage.
`Get
him!' he yelled desperately.
Zig-zagging
crazily, the boy, his coat-tails flying wildly, dodged the stream of white tracer stitching an angry pattern around his heels. He faltered momentarily. He went on, but faltered again. Von Dodenburg could see the back material of the raincoat beginning to shine in the flames where the blood was pouring from the wound in his back. Then without any warning he pitched forward. Despite the vicious snap and crackle of the small arms fire, von Dodenburg could hear the slap of his face hitting the cobbles.
Now
the panic-stricken Texans were beginning to raise their hands everywhere, some of them lifting their helmets like gentlemen passing a woman in a peacetime street.
`Cease
fire,' von Dodenburg yelled urgently. 'Do you hear - save your ammunition,
cease
fire!
'