Casca 4: Panzer Soldier (8 page)

But, somehow, men did survive it; and the few moments of respite they had while the Russians mopped up the men in front gave those in the rear time to crawl out of their holes and burrows. Tears streaming from their faces, black from grime and filth, stinking filthy apparitions. They came out with guns in their hands. At last here was something they could deal with. Many, in their frustration, beat at the sides of the Russian tanks with riflebutts and shovels; pounding, striking, anything to hit back at the terror that had torn them for the last five days. Like insects they attacked, beating and screaming at the steel beasts until, when they annoyed it too much, it would turn and trample them under. But many of the beasts died too. Desperate men fired Panzerfausts from twenty feet. Others threw themselves bodily onto the Russian tanks holding mines and sticky bombs; exploding themselves and the Russians, turning both into warm spots on the frozen fields.

Langer raised his head not sure of the silence. Why had the earth stopped shaking? It didn't feel natural. The earth was supposed to tremble and move with the vibrating waves of the barrage. Blood dripping from his nose and ears, he pulled himself out of the bunker, pushing aside fallen planks.

Crawling back inside, he kicked his men into awareness. Cursing and shoving, he forced them out into the open where the habits of years took over. Behaving as automatons, they went about their duties clearing the junk off the Tiger. They climbed inside shutting the hatches.

Gus's face was that of a man about to go mad, but his hands hit the starter switch by themselves. The
Maybachs roared into life again. The rumbling gave them some sense of purpose. Teacher loaded and sighted. Yuri sat on the hull MG, his face the only one that showed no sign of strain. Calm, peaceful, ready to kill or die as he had always been. Only he had been able to lose himself inside his own mind and block out the thunder.

"Move out!" Gus's hands and feet moved, sending the eighty tons out of its hole onto the frozen surface. It rose from the ground in time to strike out at the first wave of Russians, mowing them down like fields of wheat beneath the raking fire of the hull MG and that of the turret. Teacher reloaded and fired with HE rounds. There was no way to miss.

Langer raked the field, the heat from the breech of his MG was welcome warmth. He fired, killing men by the dozens, but nothing could stop the Russian advance. Not tanks, not courage, only death could still them, and there were too many. They split the German forces and the tides of battles surged their own way. One took Langer's Tiger to the north until the tank ran out of fuel on the edge of the battlefield. It rested in the thin trees of the edge of a forest. The battle passed them by as it did hundreds of others. Ivan would come back for them later.

Hauptmann
Heidemann thrust his Panther in the way of four assaulting KV-1s trying to give a hospital unit a few more seconds to get away with their wounded. He had taken out two when a 76 mm shell tore through the side plating of the turret, cutting his body in half before it exploded in the ammo racks. The Panther burst open to burn for a few minutes and then die.

The hospital was next. The Russians killed them all, wounded or whole made no difference. They drank medical alcohol, raped the few women there and then killed them.
Urra Stalino
, this was war the way they liked it. They had been promised the women of Germany and took them wherever they found them.

"I'm hungry." Gus was back to normal and that one statement broke the tension. Teacher and Langer fell to laughing as Yuri looked with amazement at Gus's yawning maw, down which incredible lengths of blood sausage were disappearing. Gus fascinated him. If he had been from the steppes he would have been a Hetman, a chieftain. There, excess in anything was admired.

Langer dug in his pack and took out a last pack of cigarettes, handing one around to each of his men. Teacher tore his in half and stuck half in his pipe.

They emerged from their steel shelter, and stood in the drifts, listening. The sounds of battle were far away and receding, the storm was passing them by, leaving them for the moment, alone.

Without being told, Gus and Yuri began to take their gear out of the Tiger. Personal weapons and food would be all they could take. It might be a long time and way until they rejoined a German unit. More likely Ivan would find them first.

Langer spoke softly. "Teacher, what do you think?" Stomping his feet to keep the circulation going
, he puffed slowly at his pipe. "I don't know, Carl. Only death waits to the south. We might have a better chance of connecting if we go north. Maybe the front's still holding there."

Langer stuck the butt between his lips. Taking a deep drag he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, enjoying the biting of the fumes.

"I don't know. More than likely Ivan has taken Krivoy Rog. It might be better if we headed northwest to where the railway crosses the Bug. If anything is still holding, it will be there at Pervomaysk. It's a long way, though, old friend."

Teacher nodded. "No further than we have already come. What's another two hundred
kilometers? It means nothing, we die here or we die there. What is the difference? We have to all be somewhere, and one place is as good as another for the likes of us."

Gus set booby traps on all the hatches of the sitting Tiger. The first Ivan that peeked in should set off the remaining shells.

Each loaded up and selected what he thought would be of the most use to him on the trek. They had enough food for three days if they used their iron rations; after that it would be whatever they could come across, and that might be damned thin.

Langer ordered Gus to take the turret machine gun and distributed ten of the fifty-round belt drums among the others. Gus grumbled as usual, but he knew the choice was right; next to Langer he was the strongest. Without comment they gave Manny's gear to Yuri. He picked what would be needed; the rest would be left in the tank.

"Okay, Yuri take the lead and break ground for us. We'll switch off every fifteen minutes on the point. Move out!"

Yuri, Teacher, Gus, with Langer bringing up the drag, moved deeper into the trees, each following in the steps of the other.

Overhead the eagles of the war flew high, aloof in the clean crisp air of the sky. They flew far above the insects below, killing from the heights, never seeing the faces of their victims and seldom those of their own dead. The engines droned, who they were didn't matter, the men sweating their way through the crusty snow were alone, for now.

With the dark silence, came only the whispering of the wind, as it skimmed over the trees.
Night, the kind that comes only to the cold lands, dark yet luminous. The trees, giant silent sentinels, unconcerned with the ambitions of man. Only the labored breathing of those beneath their branches disturbed the primeval serenity of this winter picture.

Before midnight, Langer called a halt. They had put enough distance between them and their stranded tank to feel safe enough to make camp. Doubling up, each joined his shelter half to that of
another, strung them up between trees and piled snow up on the side to help keep the warmth in and the wind out. Gus was with Yuri, and Teacher and Langer shared the other. Inside the small havens they laid tree branches from the firs and pines to keep them off the snow floor, pulled themselves inside, and buttoned up the entrance. There would be no sentries tonight. They were too tired, far from the battle lines, and deep in the woods; it would be highly unlikely that any Russian patrol would find this one small spot before dawn.

Teacher pulled his knees up to his chest, putting his gloved hands under his armpits, hugging himself to get any extra iota of warmth. It was completely black inside; only the feel of Langer's body next to him and the man's breathing told of another presence.

"Carl, what the hell are you?"

Langer shifted, paused, and replied in a low, gentle voice that Teacher had seldom heard, "A man, nothing more.
Perhaps even less."

A deep sighing exhalation told Teacher that Langer was asleep. And that was all the answer he was going to get.
Nothing more, maybe less, what kind of damned answer is that? He, too, used the soldier's trick of taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Before the exhalation was completed he was asleep, the dull sleep of bone-weary fatigue that takes the soul and pulls one down into the darkness that heals.

Morning came with a light breeze whipping the flaps of the shelter halves gently, making soft flopping noises. The men crawled out of the shelters like winter bears shaking their bodies and heads to get rid of the sleep still hanging on them.
One small smokeless fire for their rations and ersatz coffee. Gus complained it tasted like camel piss, and Langer thanked him for the information, saying that he had always wondered what camel piss tasted like, and now thanks to Gus's previous experiences, he knew.

Three days through the forest.
Stumbling, cold, dragging, days before they reached the other side. Not once had they seen a sign of man or any large animals. Not the track of a single deer; only the small prints of squirrels and rabbits marked the purity of the winter covering. In three days they covered twenty kilometers. Only a hundred and seventy-five to go. . . on empty stomachs.

Two more days found them in a great open plain with no shelter other than what they could make from their own gear. Before noon of the following day, they saw waves of bombers at about 15,000
heading west. Fifteen minutes later they saw them coming back. Barely visible in the distance was a black haze rising...

"
Novy Bug. We must still have people holding out there." Teacher barely nodded; it took too much effort to reply.

Langer called back to Yuri, who looked in the direction of the smoke, following Langer's pointing finger. "You've got the best eyes here, Yuri.
How far?"

Yuri looked straight at the smoke then from the sides of his eyes.
"Two more days the way we move now, perhaps twenty kilometers, no more."

Langer hiked his pack up a little higher, easing the straps.
"All right. Let's go and take a look."

That night there would be no fires. They could hear the crumping of artillery pieces being fired; 105s and 155s. Ivan was in front of them.

That same night Langer climbed a small hillock and stood, eyes to the west, watching the flickering lights from the Russian guns, marking them in his mind. About forty-six kilometers; at their rate of march it would take them seven or eight hours to reach them and the German lines were beyond them another fifteen or so. He thought hard, trying to analyze the options.

His face was rough from an ice-crusted beard; frost spots on his cheeks gave them a higher look accenting the deep hollows of the eyes. We've got to have food. Another day and night without any and Teacher and Gus won't make it. Yuri can but he's not as civilized as they are. He could last another three or four days just by eating the leather from his boots.

He gave his head one quick jerk up and down. A decision was made. Twelve hours till dawn; if they moved now they could reach the Russian positions well before daylight. Rousting the others out he told them what was going to happen.

The Russians had food and they were going to get it tonight. Gus perked up at the idea of eating. His stomach had been trying to digest itself for the last two days and while the sounds Gus made while feeding normally were disgusting enough, the constant whining and gurgling of his gut was worse.

Indian file, as usual, they worked and labored their way through the drifts, every step taking them closer to either food or death, but either one was acceptable at this point. At least they were doing something positive, not waiting for the cold or starvation and exhaustion to take them one by one. Yuri, while able to go further than the others on an empty stomach, thought he caught a hungry look in Gus's eyes a time or two when the neanderthal had been watching him. Yuri had no doubt that before Gus succumbed to hunger he would indulge himself in a little stringy Tatar stew and there was only one Tatar in sight, HIM. He was ready to go, too.

The idea of Gus gnawing on his bones gave him a new incentive to reach the Russian lines, and he volunteered to break trail knowing he would take the best and fastest route to an alternate food source.

It wasn't difficult to locate the Russian guns; all they had to do was head toward the sounds of firing. Lying on their bellies they watched the Russian HQ, just behind the battery of four 105s. It was quiet. Ivan was careless or overconfident; they had no sentries to their rear. After all, they knew all the Germans were bottled up in Novy Bug. Yuri slid on his belly, soundlessly. He took advantage of every dip and drift to ease himself closer to the entrance of the peasant’s hut serving as a command post for the battery commander. Close behind came Langer. Gus and Teacher took the flanks to provide cover in case any more Russians showed up before they finished their business inside.

The battery was continuing to fire regularly spaced shots in sequence, first one then another on rotation, a steady, continuous, methodical order, designed to get the most out of their weapons and give each one's barrel some cooling time and thereby prolong the life of the guns. It would also serve to muffle any sounds that might come from the interior of the hut.

Yuri reached the side of the hut and crept on hands and knees to the edge of the doorway. Standing on the right he drew his butcher knife and held it low to his side, sharp edge up. Langer moved to the other side, preferring the long-bladed bayonet from a Mauser. He had honed down both sides to razor fineness. They listened to the beat of their hearts pounding like drums in their ears. A shaft of reddish gold light glowed weakly through a crack in the door. Putting his eye against it Carl tried to take in as much of the room as possible.

Three men were visible, two lying on pallets and one sitting at a Russian field desk, going over charts, probably working out the coordinates' for the morning's firing program. From his shoulder boards it seemed he was a lieutenant. Tapping at the door softly, so as not to wake the sleeping men, Langer gave a strange whisper,
Tovartsch! Idisodar charoscho!
The lieutenant raised his head,
Shto?
Langer repeated his message to come in a hurry.

Sighing, the officer raised himself heavily from his seat and took the four steps to the door. Raising the wooden latch he opened the door and stepped out, only to find a hand gripping his throat, twisting his body around, cutting off his breath. The next thing he felt was a deep burning; Yuri's butcher knife found its way unerringly into the man's heart, severing the aorta. Langer let the body down easy.

Blades held low to the front in a half crouch, they stepped inside.

They moved swiftly inside, blades ready. The source of light was from a field lantern sitting on a couple of wooden shell crates for the howitzers. Yuri moved to the side of one of the sleeping Russians. Langer picked the other, a sergeant from the markings of his shoulder boards. Langer gave a quick nod of his head and both men moved
, covering the mouths of their victims as the blades struck deep.

Langer and Yuri quickly looted the hut of all they could carry that would be of any use to them, mainly food and a couple of bottles of vodka. These they stuffed into one of the Russian field packs lying on the dirt floor. They moved back out into the dark, taking the same route away from the hut.

Gus and Teacher had been lying on their bellies, waiting. The cold of the ice crust creeping up through their uniforms was starting to stiffen them, making them sluggish, and slow to respond. Langer had to call twice before Teacher answered. Grabbing him by the shoulders he pulled him to his feet as Gus slowly rose from his icy bed.

Yuri cracked one of the bottles of vodka and stuck it in Gus's paw. Two quick swallows and half the bottle was gone down Gus's gaping gap-toothed maw. Reluctantly he handed the bottle back to Yuri, who passed it over to Teacher. A couple of gulps and Teacher, too, felt some renewed strength and warmth.

There was no need to ask what had happened in the hut. The fact that they had returned spoke for itself.

Wraithlike, they moved away from the guns. Circling wide, they tried to get as much distance between themselves and the hut as possible before the Russians' bodies were discovered by their comrades. If they were lucky the
Ivans would think the killers had come from Novy Bug, a reconnaissance patrol that-stumbled on the hut and now were back in their own lines.

That morning there was no breaking of the dawn, just a gradual lightening of the sky to dull grey. Another storm was coming. The four sat huddled in a snow cave, lying on their shelter halves and blankets, of which each had one. This helped to keep the cold from the floor of their makeshift shelter to a bearable level. They fed on coarse black Russian bread and goat cheese. Gus was bitching because Langer wouldn't let them finish off the last bottle of vodka. But Langer knew that a couple of drinks were okay, but too much alcohol in the system actually lowered the body temperature, even though you felt warmer for taking another drink. They needed to reserve all the body heat they could, if the storm blasting over the Ukrainian plains was to leave them alive at its end. This night the winds were fifty KPH and growing in intensity. Here, huddled together, they had to wait and let the storm use up its strength while they tried to conserve theirs.