Comrades of War by Sven Hassel Read Free Book Online Page B

danced with Bauer. She danced with Stein. She danced with an infantry sergeant.
    The sergeant didn’t get to finish his dance. Tiny knocked him down and the Belgian threw him out in the back where others continued the transport further.
    She danced once more with Tiny. She drank with the Legionnaire. She became very drunk. She threw her clothes into one of the small curtained-off rooms.
    Aunt Dora’s subtle drops made people forget about regulations. An avalanche was in progress.
    Lisa asked the Legionnaire if he’d bring her home.
    ‘You’re a slut,’ he said, and took another sip of vodka.
    She cried a little bit. The Legionnaire didn’t pay attention to her any more. He told Aunt Dora that women who came to her dive to have an adventure were a bad lot. He told her about the women in Casablanca and Rabat. About women who loved and died. About men who were noiselessly murdered in a narrow passage between white houses. He related this jerkily, in a soft murmur.
    Aunt Dora listened, her eyes screwed up. The smoke from her long cheroot bothered her.
    Gisela attempted to leave. She’d suddenly been hit by an overwhelming desire for fresh air. The Belgian at the door – a revolving door – smiled amiably, but he shook his head. ‘You don’t leave a party this way, madame!’
    He led her back to the bar.
    A shrill laugh from Lisa struck the red lamps in the ceiling. She took another sip from her glass. Gisela didn’t drink. She was smoking, feeling very hot. She sat down beside me. I proposed we should take a trip upstairs together. I, too, had gotten a little drunk, and I felt like emulating the Legionnaire. I knew very well I didn’t behave nicely, but so what? Tomorrow we may die.
    She shook her head and waggled her foot in a pink little shoe.
    She must be rich, I thought.
    ‘Oh, go to hell,’ I said.
    She pretended not to hear.
    Tiny was yelling for whores. No one took any notice, because he was always doing that. He wanted to fight the doorman, who’d been a wrestler, but the Belgian had no desire to fight Tiny. One night they had fought. It lasted for more than an hour. When finally it was over, Tiny looked awful. The Belgian looked awful. Tiny told Dr Mahler he’d been run over by a carriage in the port. Dr Mahler pretended to believe him. One must pretend to believe many things when men from a penal regiment come to a big city with girls and schnapps after a long stay at the front. The grooms of death must live as they think they ought to. Death may come tomorrow.
    Gisela vanished, but I had her handbag. Her identification card was in it, with her address. The Legionnaire carefully examined the contents. Then he returned the bag to me, after helping himself to a hundred marks.
    Her name was something with ‘von’ and she lived on the Alster. So, she was rich!
    ‘She should be whipped,’ Ewald said. He licked his lips.
    ‘And you should have a bayonet in your belly,’ the Legionnaire smiled amiably.
    Ewald was about to say something, but Aunt Dora removed the cheroot from her mouth and snarled a warning: ‘Shut your trap, you brute!’
    Ewald said nothing. The Legionnaire hummed: ‘Come now, death, come!’
    Ewald gave himself a shake as if he were cold. Aunt Dora felt nauseated by the cheroot and looked at the Legionnaire out of the corner of her eye. The scar from his knife wound, running from his temple to the edge of his collar, shone pale blue.
    ‘Oh, cut out that damn song,’ she whispered in her hoarse voice.
    ‘Scared of death, my girl? Death’s my friend.’
    He laughed harshly and started playing with his battle knife.
    Tiny startled. Making no attempt to cover up, he felt for his own knife, hidden in a secret pocket of his boot.
    ‘Would anyone care to be sliced up?’ he grinned, sticking his mouth out toward Ewald, who was eager to get away. A brutal punch tumbled him back against the bar.
    ‘You stay here,’ Tiny warned. ‘I might feel like making a few gashes in you. You’re