Free Court Martial by Sven Hassel

oil-reeking interior Leutnant Pospelow presses his forehead against the rubber cushioning of the observation window.
    'Turret, two o'clock,' he orders.
    Less than three hundred yards in front of the tank a small body of men close together show up against the snow.
    Leutnant Pospelow smiles in satisfaction, and orders his four other tanks to swing into line to give them a broad field of fire. He does not remove his eye for a second from the observation glass. He is imbued with the hunting fever. This is a tankman's dream. The targets are beautifully placed, as if for an execution, which in reality it is.
    A 20 mm anti-tank gun barks angrily and sends its small, useless shells to splinter on the T-34's skin. Machine-guns spit tracer.
    The tank driver, Corporal Baritz, gives out a laugh.
    'Those dumb Germans think they can knock us out with MGs!'
    ' Job tvojemadj ,' 16 laughs the front gunner. 'We'll blow them a pretty tune on our golden trumpet in a minute!'
    'Explosive, fragmentation,' orders Leutnant Pospelow, coldly.
    The shell clatters into the chamber, and the breach snaps closed.
    The Leutnant's hand hovers for a second over the red button as if in doubt, and then comes down on it. The gun roars, flame gouts from the muzzle. The T-34 curtsies. The hot casing rings on the steel floor of the turret. A second later the breach snaps to again and a new fragmentation shell is ready in the chamber.
    Again and again the gun fires. The snow in front of the T-34 is blackened with soot. Three hundred yards away it is red with blood. It looks as if a madman had been throwing buckets of jam on it.
    Millions of stars dance in front of Leutnant Pospelow's eyes. He is struck violently on the chest. He slides half-way down into the turret.
    The driver, Corporal Baritz, is thrown backwards with terrific force. The loader strikes his head on the turret machine-gun, and gets a deep slash in his forehead. The air is blown out of the forward gunner's lungs, and he loses consciousness for a moment.
    'Bleedin' lot o' sods,' rages Tiny, banging the snow with his fists. The mine he has thrown is not powerful enough to penetrate the T-34's steel skin.
    The Russian tank crew has been saved by a miracle from being burnt to a crisp.
    ' Bysstryj, bysstryj ,' 17 roars Leutnant Pospelow to Corporal Baritz, who is fumbling with his instruments and pedals. His head, is still humming like a beehive. He can hardly understand how he can still manage to move and to think reasonably clearly.
    The tank jumps forward, away from that suicidal German out there in the snow, who is probably already preparing to throw another mine. Unpredictable desperadoes like that are deadly dangerous to any tank. You either have to run them down or get away from them.
    Leutnant Pospelow decides to run for it.
    ' Karbid ,' + he roars, furiously, kicking Corporal Baritz in the back.
    With a sulphurous oath the corporal treads on his accelerator without knowing that he is moving directly towards the very thing he wants to get away from.
    Porta and I lie in the snow with our bundles of grenades and wait for the right moment to attack the monster approaching us, with snow spurting out to both sides.
    One of the turret hatches is thrown open and a leather-helmeted head appears.
    'Kill them, the cursed dogs,' the Leutnant screams across the snowy wastes. It is the scream of a frightened man.
    'All right then, Ivan Stinkanovitsch,' grins Porta, demoniacally, running in short bursts towards the T-34, which has stopped again to fire.
    It is amazing how the Leutnant can miss seeing him.
    The bundle of grenades flies up under the T-34's turret. In one long jump Porta is behind a wall of snow, and pressing himself down into it to avoid the storm of steel parts the air is soon filled with.
    Two other T-34s are working together. They herd the running soldiers into a group. When they are sure of their prey, they back a little then move forward side by side. Alongside the group they reverse their