Monte Cassino Read Online Free PDF Page A

dirty finger travel across the map, "you'll remain here on the fringe of the woods with the remaining eight Panthers and you'll follow us only, note this, only if and when you see a yellow three stars." He seized the young leutnant by his tunic--"And God have mercy on you, if you move from here before you see that triple star decorating God's heaven. Do that, and I'll pull your arsehole over the top of your head and you'll look like a tired monk at midnight."
    Major Mike spat out the stump of his cigar, pulled a rusty tin out of his pocket, drew a deep breath through his nose, hawked, spat, opened the tin and nulled out a two-foot roll of juicy chewing tobacco. Curling his lips back, he bit off a piece, then handed the roll to the Old Man.
    They were the only two of us who chewed tobacco. The major always placed his quid between his lower lip and his teeth; while the Old Man preferred his against his right cheek, where it looked as if he had an enormous gumboil.
    "This is good stuff," was the Old Man's laudatory comment.
    Leutnant Herbert shook his head. Here was a major, a Prussian officer, sharing chewing tobacco with a feldwebel, a common joiner from the slums of Berlin. What next, in Heaven's name! If he told his father, he would refuse to believe him.
    "As I said, we're going into that gap as fast as we can and as soon as the two leading tanks send up their red light, we'll liquidate the bastards in a couple of shakes. Anything that moves, wipe it out." He stuck a finger into his ear and stirred it round. "Oberfeldwebel Brandt, you'll take up position with your wireless tank in that dried out stream. Glue yourself to the fourth Panther. Camouflage yourself at once and up with your prick. You'll listen until your eardrums get inflamed. Put your pornographic magazine away so you don't forget to alternate. If I have to wait even a second to come in, you'll have me to deal with--and the longest part of your life behind you. A red Verey light starts the ball. Yellow triple star, general attack. Eight tanks in reserve. We have no need of a withdrawal signal. Either we liquidate the cowboys or they wipe us out. Any questions?" Porta stepped forward and the major frowned. "Joseph Porta, I'll tell you here and now, if you try to make a fool of me ..."
    Porta pretended to be embarrassed, wiping the palm of his hands on the seat of his trousers. "Herr Major, does a weak heart exempt a chap from this picnic?"
    "I should bloody well think not. Neither weak heart nor bad prick. Any more?"
    Tiny put up a finger from the back row.
    "What is it now?" Mike growled. "Anyway, you don't understand any of this."
    "Herr Major, according to the Military Service Act of 1925, that General Blomberg made, a soldier who has served for more than seven years, does not have to take part in action. Herr Major, I have nine years service. May I have permission to step out by the back way?" Tiny then made as if to produce his army book to prove his point, but Major Mike waved him away.
    "Even if you had served for 109 years, you'll park your broad arse on the gunner's seat in 523, and you can wipe that same arse with General Blomberg's Military Service Act. If anyone else has a question, keep it till Christmas, and hang it on the tree."
    "Amen," Porta murmured, turning up his eyes.
    "Get aboard. Start engines."
    As Tiny swung his leg over the reserve tank and let himself slide down in through the right turret hatch, he called:
    "Porta, we're off to the wars again! To think we volunteered for this shit. I must have had inflammation of the speculanium that day." He bent over the shell locker inside the turret, stuffed his black panzer tunic behind the battery, pulled his shirt over his head and stowed it in the same place; then he knotted round his neck the pink chemise he had got from broad-bummed Luisa the last time we patronised Palid Ida's whorehouse. He caught a couple of lice in the thick hair on his chest and smeared them across the range finder. "And