The Bloody Road to Death by Sven Hassel Read Free Book Online

with a reproachful air. ‘Next time we won’t come back for you.’
    ‘Been chasin’cunt, ’ave you?’asks Tiny, chuckling. ‘It’s in short supply round ’ere. Might get a fuck at an ant’ill, p’r’aps! Tickle your old knob up a bit though!’
    I explain to them what has happened.
    ‘You’ll live through it,’ says Porta, ‘I did think we’d finally got shut of you this time.’
    ‘He’ll be there when we get our papers,’ grins Gregor.
    Just before dawn we continue the march. One of the wounded dies. He goes quietly, as we are carrying him. The Old Man requests us to bury him.
    ‘Lay ’im out on that, an’ ’e’ll be gone before you know it,’ says Tiny, practically, pointing to a giant anthill. ‘Them red bleeders could get rid of an elephant while I’m eatin’an ‘ard-boiled egg.’
    But the Old Man is stubborn. He wants the dead soldier buried.
    The padre fashions a cross from two stems of cactus.
    Wickedly angry we dig a hole and roll the body into it. The grave is not big enough and we have to bend him and tread on him to make him fit into it.
    The padre makes a small speech and recijtes the burial service over him. Finally we tramp the earth flat over his grave.
    Buffalo throws a helmet onto the grave. A battered, dented tin hat which has seen service right from the beginning.
    ‘
La merde aux yeux,
’ sneers the Legionnaire. ‘It’s not every
poilu
who is seen off so nicely, with prayers and the casting of earth over him.’
    Thanks is not a thing Barras excels in,’ says Porta acidly.
    ‘Keep the Army out of it!’shouts Heide, bitterly.
    ‘I don’t give a shit for your Army,’ answers Porta, angered. It’s done nothing but twist me since the first day we met!’
    ‘
My
Army, as you call it, will get
you
yet,’ promises Heide. He lifts his hand threateningly. ‘Bigger pricks than you have thought they could piss on her and get away with it.’
    A whole row of bodies – Bulgarian Army men – lie alongside the path. Skeletons and tattered uniforms. The ants have hauled away the rest.
    Porta leans one of the skeletons up against a cactus with one arm pointing south.
    ‘Frighten the shit outa the next lone ’ero as comes past ’ere, ‘e will,’ laughs Tiny. He places a cigar-butt between the grinning teeth.
    We have only a few drops of water left. We struggle heavily on through this blistering hell.
    The padre’s mind begins to wander. He thinks he is a bishop and the cactus plants are his congregation. He shuffles along beside the column, singing psalms in a hoarse, cracked voice, frightening the black carrion birds.
    The Old Man can’t stand it any longer. He slaps him stingingly several times across the face.
    The padre sits down and cries like a child.
    ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’he cries to the staring sky.
    ‘Liquidate him,’ suggests Julius Heide, coldly. ‘These black swine bring bad luck. The Fuhrer has told us these holy servants on earth are unnecessary. God can look after us without them.’
    ‘’As Adolf said that, too?’asks Tiny, wonderingly. ‘What
airit
that pissy-arsed little bleeder said in ’is time?’
    We drag the padre along with us. He blesses us and guarantees us eternal life.
    ‘Balls to that, parson,’ shouts Porta, swinging his Mpi abovehis head. ‘Help us hang on to the life we’ve got now as long as possible, instead.’
    ‘’Ow about a couple o’the Lord’s lightning bolts dropped on the ’eads of these partisan bleeders, as are behind us?’asks Tiny, ever the practical man.
    We are all sucking on pebbles now. They rattle about against our teeth as we do our best to draw the last drop of saliva out of our dried-out glands. We are close to madness from thirst.
    The Old Man vows to shoot the first man who takes a swig from his waterbottle.
    At noon the next day Porta catches feldwebel Schmidt drinking on the sly and drags him to the Old Man. He is ordered to carry the heavy grenade-thrower. He loses