Liquidate Paris by Sven Hassel Read Free Book Online Page A

to be done.
    To be caught out like that, by a comparatively simple mine, lying there for all to see, was one of the incredible ironies of war that are so hard to bear. And yet, I suppose, it was almost inevitable that something of the kind should happen. After ten hours of concentrated work in the middle of a minefield it's not very surprising if a man's attention should lapse for a second or two. Unhappily, a lapse of even a fraction of a second is only too often fatal in such circumstances.
    Porta suddenly cried out to Claus.
    'Jump! It's your only chance!'
    Claus hesitated--and who should blame him? It was one thing to say it was your only chance; it was quite another thing nerving yourself to take that chance.
    Meanwhile, we waited. And death waited none the less patiently, for a prey that was very sure.
    After a time--ten minutes? Half an hour? Days, weeks, months? It seemed like eternity--Claus raised his hand to us in a silent, farewell salute, bent his knees, prepared to take his only chance...
    I pressed my hands over my ears. Claus remained in position, like a runner waiting for the starting pistol. I suppose we must all have shared the agony of his final thoughts. So long as he remained where he was, he was still a live man; the second he moved, he would probably be a very dead man.
    He pressed the tips of his fingers into the earth, preparing for the moment when he must take his chance. And then suddenly he straightened up again.
    'Chuck me over your battledresses!'
    Ten jackets were instantly thrown across to him. Only three reached him. Little John started up again, but Porta instantly fetched him a blow with a spade. He collapsed with a grunt.
    'Tell him thank you from me,' said Claus, gravely.
    He wound the three jackets round his body, protecting his stomach and chest as best he could. Then, once again, he raised his hand in salute.
    'Jump! For God's sake, jump! '
    I heard myself urgently whispering the command, but the sound was drowned in the sudden united pealing of bells all over the country. Bells that were ringing out for the liberation of France. The wind brought us the sound of the jubilant carillons, crying out that France was free. People forgot the horrors of war, the hell of the Normandy landings, the ruined buildings, the devastated countryside. They knew only that once more they were a free people. In the streets, American soldiers danced with French girls. Viva la France! Mort aux Allemands!
    Lieutenant Brandt flexed his muscles. And jumped. And an explosion that shattered the eardrums drowned the pealing bells. A leaping tongue of flame... We sprang forward. Both his legs had been blown off. One was lying; neatly by his side; the other was God knows where. His; entire body was covered in burns, and he was still conscious.
    The Old Man at once set to work with the morphine. Porta and I bound tourniquets round the two bleeding stumps of his legs. His uniform was hanging in shreds, there was a smell of roasting flesh. Claus gritted his teeth as long as he could, but then the suffering began in earnest and his screams of pain rang out and mingled with gay carillons.
    'More morphine!' roared Little John, who had recovered consciousness after Porta's blow with the spade.
    'There isn't any more,' said the Old Man, quietly.
    Little John rounded on him.
    'What the hell do you mean, there isn't any more?'
    A pause.
    'What I say,' said the Old Man, throwing away the syringe in a gesture of disgust. 'There is no more morphine.'
    What else could we do? Nothing very much. Only sit by the Lieutenant's side and suffer his agonies with him. Someone placed a cigarette between lips that were already turning blue.
    'You'll be all right----'
    'A nice spell in hospital----'
    'You're not going to die, it's the end of the war----'
    'You'll be O.K. when we get you back to base----'
    'Can you hear the bells? It's the end of the war!'
    The end of the war, and very soon the end of life itself for our Lieutenant. He died