Free Assignment Gestapo by Sven Hassel Page B

drop a few shells in a few selected places.
    ‘Just a few . . . just a few very little ones . . . just enough to blow that load of po-faced nincompoops sky-high off their great fat arses . . . dear Ivan, that’s all I ask!’
    But the night remained dark and the silence unbroken. Ivan was evidently not listening to his prayers.
    Lt. Ohlsen regained the Fifth Company and jumped down into the trenches, where he sat a moment with clenched fists, trembling with rage against the Colonel.
    ‘What’s up?’ asked Spät, looking sagely at his brother officer over the empty pipe he was sucking.
    ‘That bloody man . . . that bloody man!’
    For a moment it seemed that this was all he could say. He spat it out viciously between his teeth, while we watched him sympathetically and at the same time waited hopefully for more. And at last it came, in language that we could understand and appreciate. The invective rolled out of him in a fine unbroken flow of obscenity, and the Old Man shook his head and regarded the Lieutenant with an air of grave paternal anxiety.
    ‘What’s he done now?’ he said, when at last he could get a word in.
    Lt. Ohlsen looked at him wildly.
    ‘I’ll tell you what he’s done! He’s arranged an inspection for 10 o’clock tomorrow morning! Make sure we’re all neat and clean and polished in accordance with Regulations! Take time off to polish our rifles and sew on our buttons!’
    ‘You what?’ said Porta, startled.
    The lieutenant turned on him.
    ‘You heard!’ he snapped irritably.
    Porta gave a great cackle of delighted laughter. He turned and shouted into the darkness.
    ‘Hey, Tiny! You catch that? We got to change our ways, you and me. Got to wash our faces and brush our uniforms. Got to get our holes swept out by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, make sure we’re living nice and clean and tidy, like, without no crumbs on the floor!’
    The answer came roaring back down the trench.
    ‘What holes you on about? Arseholes?’
    Our laughter must have been heard for miles around.
    ‘For Christ’s sake,’ implored Lt. Ohlsen, who had had a trying enough time already, poor man, ‘don’t make so much bloody noise.’
    ‘Sh!’ hissed Porta, laying a great grimy finger on his lips. ‘We’ll wake the Ruskies up!’
    ‘Yes, and that won’t be as damned funny as it sounds!’ snarled Ohlsen.
    We subsided into silence. The tops of the mountains were lost in swirling cloud, and the moon had disappeared behind a thick blanket. The night was black but peaceful.
    Lt. Ohlsen settled down in the trench between Spät and the Old Man and beckoned them to come closer to him. He began speaking in low, urgent tones.
    ‘Look, I’m in a bit of a jam,’ he said, frankly. ‘If you’ve any suggestions, I shall be only too glad to hear them . . . That stupid cunt of a colonel up there insists that we dispose of our prisoners by ten o’clock tomorrow morning. He’s coming round for a personal inspection to make sure the job’s been done properly . . . So what I want to know is, what the hell are we going to do about it? How do we arrange it so that they keep their heads on their shoulders and that blimp’s satisfied we’ve done the job?’
    There was a silence, while Spät frowned into the darkness and the Old Man pulled deeply on his pipe.
    ‘That’s a pretty tall order,’ he said, at length. ‘Means hiding the six prisoners and finding six dead bodies to show the Colonel . . . not so easy.’
    ‘Suppose,’ suggested Spät, ‘we just closed our eyes and let them escape?’
    ‘You heared what Boris said,’ objected Ohlsen. ‘They’d be shot the minute they got back to their own lines.’
    ‘What – just for having been taken prisoner?’ Spät shook his head. ‘He must be exaggerating. I find that very difficult to believe.’
    ‘Well, all right, let’s ask him. See if he’s got any ideas. Damn it all, it’s his head I’m trying to save.’
    Spät sent off for the prisoner, and a few