Free Cauldron of Blood by Leo Kessler

order not to skid on the slick snow and run over the man who foolishly stood in their path.
    Peiper looked over the turret. The man wasn’t alone. There were other snow-shrouded figures in the ditches on both sides. Most of them were bearded, forty-year olds, miserable old men, who wished they were back in front of their pot-bellied stoves holding mutti’s hand instead of stuck out here in the freezing midst of nowhere.
    He grinned sympathetically and called, ‘Where’s the fire, soldier?’
    ‘ There ain’t any yet,’ the man with the lamp said sourly. ‘But we live here, if yer can call it living, and as soon as the Ivans spot those tin cans of yours, there’ll be all hell to play.’
    ‘Sorry about that, soldier. But there’s a little thing called a war going on. People get hurt.’
    ‘ As long as it ain’t us,’ a grumpy voice said from the ditch.
    Peiper frowned and bit back the hot reply which had come to his lips. They were old and already war-weary. Trying to control his hot temper, he asked, ‘What’s the situation up here?’
    ‘ Shitty, decidedly shitty.’
    Peiper realized that he was not going to get anything from the grumpy old soldier. ‘Where’s your commander located?’ he snapped.
    ‘ Up there — in the commissar’s villa.’
    ‘ Commissar’s villa!’ Peiper exclaimed.
    For the first time a weary smile crossed the soldier’s face. ‘Fireball ain’t no fool, sir. He likes to make hisself comfortable even in the line.’
    ‘ Obviously. All right, tell me how I can find this — er — Fireball’s HQ.’
    A moment later, the little convoy was crawling its way in the direction indicated by the soldier. The upper storey of the commissar’s villa had been destroyed by enemy gunfire, but the bottom half was in good order, though most of the windows were boarded-up. Obviously the place possessed a good cellar, for there was a large broken arrow pointed to a low door with the usual legend painted above it Luftschutzkeller .
    Peiper sniffed. Fireball, whoever he might be, certainly did like his comfort, even this far forward. He pressed the throatmike and ordered his driver to stop. Then, after ensuring that his vehicles were well distributed around the building, although the swirling snowflakes provided cover enough, he entered the villa.
    Five minutes later he was in the presence of Colonel Xavier Clohse, nicknamed the Fireball. It did not take Peiper long to guess how he had acquired that name. The fat full-colonel was a bustling individual, bursting with energy, and his permanently crimson face, obviously the result of high blood pressure, added to the impression.
    ‘ SS, eh?’ were his first words and he looked at the slim, handsome officer in the smart black uniform of the panzers with undisguised contempt.
    Involuntarily Peiper flushed. ‘I do happen to be German too, like you, Colonel,’ he said icily.
    ‘ What do you want?’ Fireball did not seem to notice the implied insult.
    ‘ Your cooperation while we cross the river, sir. Fire-cover and a—’
    ‘ Impossible!’ Fireball cut into his words brutally, taking some sort of dried fish from the silver tray and swallowing it whole, like a stork. ‘Quite out of the question! Don’t you know we front-swine have got to live here, unlike the gentlemen of the SS, who will undoubtedly pass through on some merry little jaunt or other, while we get the shit slung at us.’
    ‘ I seem to have heard that phrase – we’ve got to live here – before, sir,’ Peiper said, his voice heavy with irony. ‘And I have no intention of disturbing the peace, god forbid. All I ask is that you give us the minimum of assistance so we can cross the river, be on our way, and allow you to enjoy your peace and calm here.’
    Fireball smiled suddenly and taking a monocle out of his pocket, screwed it firmly into his right eye and gazed at Peiper as if he were seeing him for the first time.
    ‘ I do not like your corps, Obersturmbannfuhrer , I