Blitzfreeze by Sven Hassel Read Free Book Online Page A

soldiers have been crushed under the overturned tank. A Luftwaffe lorry coming from the opposite direction, brakes, skids and sweeps an entire company of infantry off the road. A Jaeger officer and a Luftwaffe Leutnant quarrel wildly. ‘This’ll cost you your head,’ screams the flier hysterically. ‘The Luftwaffe won’t stand for it any more. The Army has been blackening our name since the days of St Wenceslas. Telegraphist here!’ He shouts to his men who are standing forlornly around the wrecked lorry. ‘Call the Reichmarschall’s Chief-of-Staff!’ he commands.
    ‘Sir, the wireless is out of commission,’ the Obergefreiter lisps in a pleased tone.
    ‘Sabotage!’ screams the Leutnant into the fog.
    ‘Yes, sir, sabotage, sir!’ echoes the Obergefreiter with complete indifference.
    ‘I command you to call the Reichmarschall,’ screams the Leutnant, his voice cracking. ‘If your instrument has been sabotaged, then shout man! Or march to Berlin! My order must be carried out!’
    ‘Yes sir,’ the telegraphist replies unexcitedly. He turns smartly on his heel and begins to march towards the west. He pauses alongside our wagon. Porta is lying, languidly resting across one of the tracks, chewing on a quivering chunk of brawn. He follows Churchill’s motto:
    ‘Don’t stand up if you can sit down! Don’t sit down if you can lie down!’
    ‘D’you know the way to Berlin, chum?’
    ‘Y-e-e-ep!’ replies Porta forcing a large piece of brawn into his mouth. ‘Is the Obergefreiter on his way to Berlin?’
    ‘Your parents must have been fortune-tellers,’ grins the Luftwaffe Obergefreiter.
    ‘It’ll take some time if you intend to go on foot,’ smiles Porta. ‘Come with us to Moscow. It’s not a hundred miles. You could probably get the use of a telephone there!’
    ‘That sounds sensible,’ replies the Luftwaffe Obergefreiter, ‘but my boss has ordered me to march to Berlin and tell the Reichsmarschall that he wants to speak to him.’
    ‘Well, I suppose then you must go to Berlin,’ decides Porta. ‘An order’s an order. We Germans learn that right from the cradle. March straight down the motor road until you reach Smolensk. Follow the signposts to Minsk, but don’t over night in Tolsjeski. Those pigs will put the authorities on to you, and that will delay you at least two days. The military mind thinks slowly. When you reach Minsk look for the fountain: “The Pissing Lady”. Everybody knows where that is. Across from the statue is the cabaret called “Ludmilla’s Smile.” Contact Alexandrovna who owns it. She’ll fix you up with vodka. You can get a bed from the dealer in flour, Ivan Domasliki, an outcast Czech who lives at 9 Romaschka Street. Don’t forget to have a look at Minsk while you’re there. It’s an historically interesting town, where a great many different armies have been bashed about through the centuries. Butwatch your socks! The bastards who live there consider it their
duty
to steal from strangers. Never give them the impression that you own anything at all. Let them think you own nothing but your personal skin and bones. If you don’t you can count on getting sold either to the “Watch-dogs” or to the partisans. Whichever of them pays most’ll get you. 50 to 100 marks. For an Obergefreiter from the Luftwaffe I’d think the partisans would pay top-price. Army boys like us are only worth 50 marks. SS-men they just won’t accept. They only cause trouble.’
    ‘You don’t really mean to say that we airmen are worth all that much?’ asks the Obergefreiter with assumed pride.
    ‘Of course,’ Porta grins across a mouthful of brawn. ‘You’re a rarity out here in the war. We only see you lot when decorations or supplies are being dished out.’
    ‘I know,’ replies the Obergefreiter honestly.
    ‘When you get tired of Minsk,’ Porta goes on, ‘there’s three roads you can choose between. Through Brest-Litovsk is the quickest but I wouldn’t take it