Liquidate Paris by Sven Hassel Read Free Book Online Page B

within seconds, and we retraced our steps through the minefield, between the white markers that he had helped set up, carrying him shoulder high; a funeral procession with the triumphant bells as our accompaniment. Little John walked at the head. Porta brought up the rear, playing a melancholy tune on his flute. 'The journey of the wild swans', it was; one of the melodies that Claus had loved best.

CHAPTER THREE

    The Russian, Lieutenant Koranin of the 439th East Battalion, together with his company of Tartars, had made an astonishing discovery: in an American landing-craft, lying by the side of three dead officers, was a document case crammed full of papers. Koranin instantly took possession of the document case and hurried off with it to his company commander, who with equal promptitude decided that it was a matter for General Marcks, commander of the 84th Army, to deal with. Accordingly the two men went off together with the precious document case.
    The General at once appreciated the value of Koranin's discovery, and he lost no time in passing on the news to the Eighth Army. The Eighth Army, to his surprise and indignation, laughed in his face and gratuitously informed him that he was talking nonsense. For a while General Marcks was too stunned with anger to do more than sit and fume, while his aide-de-camp stood tactfully to one side and himself read through the contents of the wretched document case. Both men were firmly of the opinion that the papers were genuine.
    'Do you think, perhaps, sir, the Secret Service...?'
    The General did. The Secret Service should be informed immediately. No doubt about it, the papers were of the utmost importance. The next step was to contact Generalfeldmarschall von Rundstedt and tell him that he, General Marcks, had in his possession the Allies' top secret plans relating to the Normandy invasion. The plans clearly demonstrated the truth of what until now had been purely a matter for conjecture: that the recent landings were only a prelude to the full-scale invasion which everyone had been anticipating for the past four years.
    'Rubbish!' screamed von Rundstedt, and slammed down the telephone.
    He remained adamant. The plans were fakes. A deliberate trap. Had been planted there to catch just such gullible fools as General Marcks. Come to that, the landings themselves were intended to mislead. Von Rundstedt had his own ideas on the subject. Certainly the Allies were planning an invasion, any idiot knew that, but the Normandy landings were not the prelude to it. They had been laid on as an elaborate red herring.
    'Relieve General Marcks of his command! ' ordered von Rundstedt, irritably. 'The man's an idiot and a dreamer and has no right to be in charge of an army. Get rid of him.'
    THE HILL OF GOLGOTHA
    It was night. We were making our way back along the main road, three columns of us, to position 112. A damp North Sea mist hung in the air and worked its way under our clothes and our skin, down our throats and into our very bones. We were marching towards the rear of one of the columns. The vanguard had long ago disappeared into the mist. It was some time since we had last seen them and we took their continued presence at the head of the column merely on trust.
    Porta, for once, was not talking of food. He had fallen back on his second subject of conversation and was relating one of his interminable tales about whores. The Old Man was bringing up the rear, marching stolidly onwards with his head sunk between his shoulders, the inevitable pipe protruding from the corner of his mouth, his helmet hanging by its strap from his rifle. We always called him, always had called him, the Old Man. Right from the start. In fact he was Feldwebel Willy Beier, our section leader. He hardly looked the Army's idea of the perfect soldier, crashing along in a pair of big black boots several sizes too large for him, with his shabby uniform and his week's growth of beard, but he was the best section leader