Casca 4: Panzer Soldier (4 page)

Langer's tank moved up the opposite rim of the ridge. Without waiting to be told, Teacher reloaded with a piercing scream and sighted on the approaching tanks. Taking the leader in his sight, he nodded for the okay and fired, the
round knocking the tread off, leaving the T-34 turning in circles, a wounded beast waiting for the death blow which was not long in coming. The crew burned inside as the fuel tanks went up and then exploded when the flames reached the stacks of shells inside, blowing the tank completely over.

The
Wespes had reached ground suitable for the use of their powerful 105s. The assault guns had a limited traverse but were in their element in antitank fighting from prepared positions. One after another, Russian tanks were knocked out until the field in front no longer needed the flares of the artillery to light it up. The burning hulks of Soviet armor provided all the light they needed. As soon as the tanks were done in, the Wespes shifted over to antipersonnel rounds, firing shells that exploded above the heads of the panic-stricken Russians, smashing them into the earth while the combined machine-gun and rifle fire of the grenadiers of the Gross Deutschlanders stitched them back and forth, the tracers from the MGs like racing fireflies. They sought out the soft bodies of the attackers. The Russians broke and disappeared back into the dark, leaving their wounded behind. They had enough. Only one KV-1 returned. Eight lay burning on the field. They never got closer than two hundred meters to the gully.

Immediately after the Russians withdrew, Major Kruger ordered all the men back into the gully, including the
Wespes and Langer's Panther. Carl thought he was crazy when he ordered all guns to fire at nothing from the trench for a full five minutes and then ordered them back out to take up positions a thousand meters to the rear.

It wasn't until Ivan began to lay artillery and heavy mortars on the position they had just left that he understood why. By going back to the gully and firing they let Ivan think they were still there and let them shell empty positions all night while they rested in peace further back. Once the new defensive perimeters were set and the sentries stationed, the rest could settle down for a few hours of badly needed sleep. They had been lucky this night. If Ivan hadn't tried to get so cute and creep up on them without any artillery or mortar fire beforehand, it might well have been a different story. As it was they had only nine dead and seven wounded, two critically, and these were laid by the
Wespes and were being cared for by their medics.

Langer and Teacher took the first watch. Teacher filled his ever-present pipe and sucked in deep on the aromatic smoke while Langer lit up another Jung.

"A long day, right, Teacher?"

"It could have been longer or shorter. It's all a matter of perspective."

Carl stripped to the waist and rinsed himself with a careful measure from his canteen, wiping away the surface grime and powder. The water, even though lukewarm, felt cool on his skin. Teacher looked at the mass of scars on his tank leader's torso. Some were thin lines like threads of white; others were deep gouges that puckered at the edges and one on his left wrist that ran all the way around. . .

"I don't guess you're ever going to tell me how you got so chopped up, so I guess I'll just have to ask. If you don't want to talk, it's all right." He took a couple of short puffs to keep the pipe lit.

"It's all right, Teacher. The old scars came from when I was a kid and in a car wreck; I went through the windshield and got cutup pretty good. The others came from an assortment of accidents – some from a train wreck in Switzerland in 1934 and the others from jealous husbands; they look worse than they are."

Teacher moved to where he could see Carl's chest and pointed to a long deep scar right in the
center of the chest. "What about that one! I know that had to be serious."

Langer touched the scar. "Well, let's just say that's one I don't want to talk about."

Teacher nodded. "As you wish. Now tell me, how are things at home? What news? We really haven't had a chance to talk since you got back from the training regiment."

Letting the air dry him, he sat down next to Teacher on the turret. "Not good. The Americans and British are bombing night and day and all but the essentials are gone, though the black market is active enough, if you have money – or something to trade. But what bothers me the most are the
rumors and stories of what's going on at places where civilians are kept in camps. A couple of names that have cropped up are Auschwitz and Buchenwald. I don't know, Teacher, I have seen trainloads of Jews being sent back from Poland and Russia, whole families in cattle cars. I asked an SD man about it at one of the stations and he said they were going to relocation centers ... but I just don't know. The things I have heard are not good."

Teacher nodded slowly. "I know what you are talking about. I have heard them too. It's the SS, the bully boys of the
Totenkopf, the Jew baiters and toughs from the streets of the thirties." Teacher spat on the side of the tank, missing his mark on the ground.

"Bastards."

"Here at the front we don't get any of that shit or hear much of it, but recently they have been sending some of those black-uniformed heroes to the front to fill out the ranks of the Waffen SS and with them, they bring their sickness."

Langer shook his head, the thin hairline scar giving him a bitter look that came out in his words, "I don't know if we deserve to win if the stories are true, Teacher. I don't know if we're going to win anyway. Russia is just too big, and for every tank that's turned out in the factories in Germany, the Russians turn out twenty. They can afford the losses. If we don't win soon, I don't think we ever will, and if the stories are right, I don't want us to. Look, we have all shot some prisoners when it was necessary, when we couldn't take them with us and couldn't send them back or let them go. That's one thing. But the horrors I have heard are too much and believe me,
Teacher, I have been around more than you might believe."

Teacher thumped his pipe out in the cup of his hand, dropping the ashes. "You can talk to me like that, but be careful what you say around anyone else. You know the punishment for spreading sedition and defeatist talk."

"Well, it's time to wake Gus and the youngster up. We can still get a couple of hours sack before morning."

Gus and Manny took their places on the turret while Teacher and Langer rolled up in their blankets. Like all soldiers they knew how to sleep instantly – one deep breath, close the eyes and out.

Gus spent the hours until dawn regaling Manny with stories of his amorous adventures while working as a whorehouse bouncer in Stuttgart. Manfried learned more that night about female anatomy than he could have in twenty years of normal living, but then whoever said Gus was "normal." Everything he did was oversized and exaggerated; he ate more, talked more, drank more and lied more than anyone in the army and that included the general staff and Herr Schiklegruber, as he referred to the SS's holy German, the Austrian Fuhrer.

Manny was aghast at the disrespect shown the leader. Never had he heard anyone say anything detrimental about him before. It was unheard of, but he couldn't help laughing when Gus told him that Hitler would have never made it, if he had kept his real name. After all, it would nearly be impossible to imagine 20,000 black-dressed SS men at a party day rally in Nuremberg shouting "
Heil Schiklegruber." No indeed, there was a lot to a name.

By the time of the first false light of predawn creeping over the fields, he was certain he was sitting next to either a madman or superman – possibly both. Scratching the stubble of beard, Gus stood upon the side of the tank and undid his pants and took a leak, his stomach rumbled and he leaped from the tank telling Manny to watch things and ran off to do some looting for breakfast. The four pounds of sausage was eaten before last night's attack. Gus was a man who needed to keep his strength up. After all, one never knew when he might run into some of the Russian female mortar crews.
God. How he would like to have a week interrogating some of the large-titted, broad-hipped Russian female officers. He would teach them soon enough who the master race was; after all, did not a pecker bear a strong resemblance to the German helmet. And he, being the pride of the Panzer Corps, had the finest example of one available for miles.

Gus's logic escaped Manny, but then most of the things Gus said he missed. After Gus left, he self-consciously opened his trousers and took a good look at his own organ. Controlling a giggle, he thought: "You know, it does look like a German helmet, but doesn't everyone's look the same?" He'd have to ask Gus about that when he came back.

Langer awoke to the sound of engines starting up, which brought him to instant awareness. Gus was back with a helmet full of eggs and the hindquarter of a hog. He was breaking the egg tops off and sucking them out as fast as he could, smacking his lips and making that awful gurgling sucking sound he had when he normally fed.

"Here," he said as he set the helmet full of eggs down. There were ten. "These are for you and the others. I already ate mine."

Grinning, Langer looked up, "And how many was that, Gus?"

“Only a dozen, more or less.
I didn't want to make a pig of myself, you know. Have to watch my figure."

Stefan leaned out of the hatch. "You don't have to worry about making a pig of
yourself, you're already a walking piece of suet. God already took care of that for you."

Nonplussed, Gus tossed him the hindquarter. "None of your lip, now, or Uncle Gus will spank. Here, put our lunch away and out of sight before any of the GD boys see it. It was to be their lunch, but the chef still has one left to spread around."

The haunch quickly disappeared into the interior.

Major Kruger strode up to them, his eyes still red. "Well, fellows, you can come with us or try to get back to your unit on your own, though I think we'll end up in the same place eventually. At any rate, I just wanted to let you know you did good work last night and if you ever want a transfer, give me a call. We're moving out now. The rest of the division is moving up. General
Hoerlein wants us to take the bridge over the Psel south of Oboyan today, so we better get cracking."

"Thanks for the offer, Major, but I think we better try and contact our own battalion first. Stefan, see if you can get the captain on the radio."

Captain Heidemann's voice crackled over the earphones. Langer reported the night's activities and then turned the set off.

"We're to rendezvous with the battalion by the railroad track going from Belgorod to
Rzhavka. There's a burned-out KV-1 on a hill that we can spot on. It's only about five miles, so let's warm her up and get going."

Hatches opened as he waved farewell to Kruger, and the Panther rumbled off up out of the gully, treads tearing up ground as they lurched and crested the lip and Gus swore as his head bounced and struck the edge of his open hatch. Crossing the field, the tank ground bodies underneath. As the forty-five tons of steel approached another pile of bodies, one suddenly got up and started sprinting away.

Langer swung the MG-34 around and fired a short burst in front of him: "
Stoi, Ruki verkh
."

The Russian froze in his tracks. Following orders, he raised his hand high crying out: "
Nix Schiessen! Tovarish, Nix Schiessen!
"

The man had no weapon, so Langer motioned for him to come to the tank, which was sitting on idle.
"
Idisodar charoscho
. Come quickly."

The Ivan obeyed with alacrity. Carl motioned for him to sit on the rear behind the turret, after making sure he had nothing that would go boom on him. The Russian had the face of one who had been born on the crossroads of Asia; bright dark eyes in a weathered face, three gold teeth when he smiled Langer had to almost forcibly keep Gus at the controls when he saw the miniature gold mine in the prisoner's mouth. He already had his pliers out, ready to do a little digging. Sulking, he obeyed and went back to driving the tank, cursing at how unfair it was for a sergeant to interfere with free enterprise. The Russian kept close to Langer and pointed down the hatch at Gus: "
Germanski, Khrpikj djavol
."

Langer laughed. "You got that right, Ivan. He is a crazy devil. Just keep your mouth shut around him and maybe he'll forget, though I wouldn't bet on it.''

Spotting the burned out KV-1 on the hill, they swung past it and saw the rest of their battalion loading up with petrol and ammo.

"Good. We're low on both. Find a place in the line."

Langer left the others to see to the servicing of the tank and took the Tatar with him to report to Captain Heidemann.

Heidemann
was conferring with a dispatch rider on a motorcycle but waved him over. "Glad to see you back, Langer. What do you have here?" He pointed to the Russian.

"Hitchhiker."

Heidemann sighed, "Well, we don't have time for a prisoner. You found him, you take care of him."

The dark little man knew instinctively his life was being handed over to the man with the scarred face.

"
Nix schiessen, spasibo Germanski, Yuri
." Then pointing to himself, "
Nix Stalin
." He made the rocking motion of a mother and child with his arms. Langer watched the little man and shook his head, smiling to show everything was all right.

"
Germanski, nix schiessen, Yuri
." The little wiry man lit up, his gold teeth flashing. He knelt down and placed Langer's boot on the top of his head. "
Dosvedanya. Stalin kaputt
."

Teacher came up while this was going on and Langer told what the captain said. "I guess we'll keep him for a while. You take him back and get him out of that Russian uniform or he won't make it through the day."

Teacher nodded. "You think it's wise to do that? We might wake up with our throats slit one morning. These devils are mighty handy with a blade."

"I think it's all right. I know something of the people, and the little scene you witnessed where he put my foot on his head made me his master. He's not a true
Russian, he's from the steppes to the east. Just a poor bastard who's been caught up in this thing like the rest of us, but once a Tatar acknowledges someone as his master, he's faithful to the death."

Teacher still had a puzzled look on his face, but the tone which Langer used said he knew what he was talking about.

Taking Yuri by the arm, Carl guided him back to their tank, where the rest of the crew chipped in pieces of clothing to make him a semblance of a uniform. Before Teacher would let him change, he made him take a bath, a thing which seemed to wound the Tatar's dignity worse than being captured, but he complied after Gus took out his pliers. Murmuring “
Khrpikj djavol
" he kept a wary eye on Gus and his pliers while he washed.